Years Without Rest (No More Running)
by Stryker Young
Summary: How far can one go to escape his past? No really how far, 'cause Khalid is going to Skyrim and he wants to know if that's far enough. This story follows a young(ish) boy named Khalid Athanasius and his two hundred year (told you he's youngish) struggle to escape the awful things he's seen. But when his past comes dancing up to him after so long, he finally decides to take a stand.
1. Chapter 1

**"W**hat do you _mean_ it didn't work?"

The redguard mage is too busy gaping at the dull black soul gem in his hands to properly hear my question. After three months of searching, I've finally found the one person able to cure my illness...and now I'm glowering at him in disbelief. Not only had he forced me to pay an outrageous price for the gem, he'd left it empty, forcing me to hunt for a human worthy of death and entrapment. So, one week after beheading a bandit, I was then dragged to a ruin at five thirty in the morning for...what again? Oh yes: a little fizzle, a strange tingle in my spine, and then...nothing!

The gods sure _love_ to torture me.

"It should have worked," Falion says hollowly. "It...it has never failed before, I..."

His eyes finally shoot to mine, staring into the glowing orange irises encased by fiery red.

"What..._are_ you, Thane of Morthal?"

"A blood sucking _vampire_," I growl, my upper lip curling to reveal glistening fangs. "We've already covered this."

"But then...why aren't you a normal boy again?"

"_I'm_ not sure, _I'm_ not the mage who dragged me out to the middle of a bog claiming to know what _I_ was doing!"

I growl through my teeth. I've been a normal (albeit smarter) vampire for two hundred years, but the last fifty years had included a castle on a remote island, a snooty vampire lord, and a chunk of my throat ripped out to make room for more venom than even I could take. Upon waking I found that, instead of being healed as promised, I'm now worse off than I had been upon arrival.

And now it appears that Falion is screwing me over too.

"Now...now don't take this out on _me_!" the mage squeaks as I step towards him. "The arts I practice can be temperamental at times! You can't always expect perfection!"

"Really? Why didn't you mention that when we first _met_?"

"Would you have bought my gem, cleared Movarth's lair, and wiped out that bandit cave if I had told you the truth—"

I snap forward and grab him around the throat, ignoring my hood as it flies from my head. He shrieks when I slam him against the stone wall, five feet from where we had been, my eyes blazing in my pale face.

"Did you just admit to _using_ me, Falion?" I snarl, a dangerous sneer on my face as the mage tries to claw my hand away. "I didn't know _great mages_ like you were capable of such stupidity."

Falion's eyes are huge under his hood, obviously taking in the three scars splitting my lips and the lids of my right eye. Gifts from an old friend. My black hair is sticking to my neck and shoulders, but I ignore it.

"K-Khalid, _please_," Falion chokes out. "I swear to you, I-I really did try—"

"So why didn't it _work_?"

"I don't know—"

"_Guess_!"

"Something must be different about your affliction. Something that blocks the proper healing."

I have the sudden urge to drop the mage and travel to that little castle off Solitude. Slaughter the king over there, maybe his advisors too.

"There may have been some things taken away, but most of them appear to be there."

I don't realize I've released Falion until he's fixing the cloth around his throat.

"I...I am sorry, Khalid," He says quietly. "I wish I could help you—"

"Save it, Falion," I sigh. "I've heard this kind of thing before."

The mage shakes his head as I bite my lower lip. No reason to be upset. I've only traveled all the way to Skyrim to reach disappointment, _again_. What else is new?

"Is...there anything else I could..." Falion starts. He has a little girl named Agni he's cared for for ten years, so I can see his makeshift father senses tingling. I still looked sixteen, so that's probably messing with him.

"No, thank you," I say quietly. "I think I'll just pick up and go again."

"Are you sure?"

I nod, staring at the moss ridden stones.

"Please just go."

Falion reaches for me, but retracts. I lift my eyes enough to see him descend off the platform and disappear into the marsh. Only after I am sure he's gone do I allow myself to cave in and rest my elbows on my knees, my hands pressed over my cursed eyes. Why can't I find a cure? What about me is so important that I need to live for so long?

_You're important, Khalalily. Whether you want to be or not. Make the most of it._

My throat tightens at the words that fill my head. Fine...I'll keep going. Maybe go somewhere else and become thane. Or just live out in the woods, that sounds nice. I can just stare up at the stars every night, wishing I could see the clouds and sun again.

I straighten, then turn around and start for one of the columns. My bag is barely visible in the lowlight of the sunrise. I freeze, then spin around and flinch at the bright light that pierces my vision. I try to duck behind the column but, low and behold, my feet trip over themselves and I slam my hip against the stones.

_Damnit_!

The sunlight creeps closer and closer as I struggle to pull myself away, pressing myself against the beam as the stream spreads across the rocks. It stops just as I go to cover my face, and I look up to see that the beam was curved enough to shade me. I sigh and look at the taunting light that snakes around to cover the rest of the bog. Looks like I won't be leaving anytime soon.

Falion's words suddenly come to mind as I sit there, and I find myself looking at my hand. If I had really lost some of my vampiric abilities, did that mean I'd lost some weaknesses too? My fingers twitch as I gaze at them, then I lean forward and slowly set my palm on the shaded slab. Cautiously I inch my hand along, until my fingertips were only a pin's length away from the sun, then shove my hand out, cringe in anticipation for the sting.

Nothing happens.

I look down at the back of my hand, wiggle my fingers, wait. But nothing sizzles, nothing crumbles into dust. It's just...warm.

I retract my hand and look towards the flaming orb peeking out at me, as if waiting to see what I will do now. I take an unnecessary breath in (vampires don't need to breath, but sometimes it's nice to take one) then close my eyes as I lean forward. I stop when my eyelids turn orange, twitching at the warmth that has just stroked my face. My eyes sneak open and a smile slips across my face. Looks like things won't be so bad after all.

I grab my pack and stand, edging into the sunrise like a rabbit from a hole. Maybe...maybe today is different. Maybe it will be the start of something better.

I get my answer when I reach the edge of the platform and slip. My legs fall out from under me and I slide down until my pants are in the mud and my coat is all the way up my back. I groan in pain.

Today will _not_ be different from any other day.

* * *

**Cyrodil: 186 Years Ago**

**"K**halid!"

I was almost shoved from the bridge railing I was perched on as someone threw their arms around me. I regained my balance and smiled at the white-blonde snuggling into the crook of my neck. Bright green eyes gleamed up at me mischievously; she was still wearing her tight raiment, the bright yellow taunting me, and the Amulet of Julianos I'd given her for her birthday. I brushed a clump of dirt from her pale cheek.

"Practicing Destruction magic again?" I asked. "What did you blow up this time?"

"Nothing important," Ianira assured me. "Just some rats, spriggans, and wolves. Oh, and maybe a food cart on the way in, but I ran before anyone saw me."

I laughed and shook my head, praying she wasn't serious, but knowing that she was.

"How long have you been sitting here, my Imperial knight?"

"Only an hour."

"And you haven't stumbled off yet?" she asked with a laugh. "Am I hugging the wrong Khal?"

I growled as she giggled in my ear. Even with all my Arena training, I could never get my feet to work properly. According to the Breton Warrior snuggling me, I'd tripped so often in combat that the yellow team thought I was faking to lure their teammates to their death. I wasn't about to tell them they were wrong, but I wished I could go through one match without falling flat on my face.

"Maybe it's your armor," Ianira was saying as she fiddled with the iron plates on my blue raiment. "Too bulky, especially for your build."

"It's better than going out with nothing but _cloth_ to protect me," I said, reaching over and guiding her to sit on the railing with me. "You worry me when you run out in hide."

"You would be even _more_ worried if I stumbled out in a tin suit," Ianira reasoned, shooting me a snooty smirk.

"They aren't _that_ much heavier."

"No, I suppose not, but anyway, I've got my new ward and armor spells, so I may as well be wearing heavy armor when I go out."

I nodded, smirking as I recalled first time Ianira had tried the enhancing armor spell and ended up turning her skin blue. She'd been angry at me for laughing, but she'd looked so cute, I couldn't help it.

"So..." Ianira started cheekily, scooting closer and looping her arm through mine. "What's in the clouds today?"

The murky waters of Bravil were smelly and the houses were piled on top of each other, and the people living in the city weren't very friendly, but on that bridge we always found a way to get passed all that. The clouds were a big part of it; we always took a moment to just look up at them, predict our future, right before we took the journey to the Imperial City and the Arena.

"Hmm," I mumble, looking up at the sky. "Well, there's a minotaur, and a spider, possibly a castle being attacked by a dragon—"

"Khalid, there's only _one_ cloud in the sky!" Ianira laughed.

"_Fine_, then what do you see in that cloud?"

She tilted her head and pursed her lips, even though we both knew what she would say. We'd danced this dance so many times our feet ached, but we loved every second of it.

"I see a boy, two or three years from now," she started. "With black hair sticking to his neck, and deep brown eyes. He's still scrawny, still kind of short, still clumsy—"

"_Why_?" I protested with a grimace.

"Because that's how I _love_ him," Ianira said, shaking my arm with a teasing grin on her face. "And he's married to a pretty girl, with children that love him, a great house. They've even got enough room for his crazy uncle and her mother."

"Are you sure you want _them_ with us?"

"Of course. Your uncle can watch the children and her mother can sew all their clothing."

"Will she have enough fabric for that?"

"She can make do."

I laughed and nestled my face in her hair as she stared at the billow, then closed her eyes with a content smile on her face.

"I like that cloud," I said.

"Good, because it's happening." she said. "Soon."

"How soon?"

"Like I said, two to three years from now. When you're sixteen and a man and I'm fifteen and sick of living here. We have to do it after I become Grand Champion and you buy our house in Cheydinhal. That way you're already used to cooking my meals and cleaning the house."

I laugh loudly and pinch her sides, not at all surprised by her arrogance. I'm not offended either though. I was only in the Arena as a Gladiator to bring septims in for me and my uncle. Ianira was in the Arena to be the best, to be spoken of in legends. She deserved it, for how hard she worked. We were careful to keep our relationship secret, going into fights on differing days to avoid being pitted against each other. But in my mind, if there was a time when we had to do battle, I'd fall on my dagger in a heartbeat.

"We should head out soon," Ianira laughed, shoving my hands away. "Your uncle is going to want to see you."

"Mm-Hmm," I mumbled, pressing my forehead to hers.

"We've kept him waiting long enough I think."

"Yes, we have."

"_Khal_!"

I whined and withdrew, swinging my legs over the railing and dropping back to the bridge. Ianira followed suit, then grabbed my hands. I leaned down so she could kiss my lips.

"Go get the carriage, I'll grab my stuff and tell my family we're leaving."

"Okay," I said as she gave my hands a squeeze and whisked away.

I watched her bounce down the bridge, humming a random tune, then turned to head back to the town. Unfortunately my ankles tangled together and I landed flat on my stomach, scraping my arms against pebbles.

At least I hadn't been sitting on the _bridge_ when that happened. That would have made for a terrible, normal day.**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**I** take a deep breath in and let it out in a yawn. I've been travelling the whole day, running purely on the desire to see the sun climb its way across the blue sky. I'm heading to Whiterun, but had taken a detour when I spotted a Stormcloak entourage on the roads. Not wanting to stir up trouble, I went straight through to the Pale, then straight down when I found the stone path again. I was walking maybe a few hours before I sat down in the soggy grass and stared up at the sky, the clouds.

"There's a minotaur..." I'd mumbled once. "Did you know they aren't in Skyrim, Ianira? They've just got trolls and giants. I will say they're a lot scarier than the minotaurs."

By the time I get up it's dark out and I'm even more exhausted than before. But I'm content enough now. Hopefully the vampirism will keep decreasing. Even though my lungs don't need air, it felt good to breath in the dew and heat of the day.

I'm just about to set up my cot when lights catchs my eye. I squint and my night vision clicks in. Just when I'm getting a better view it flickers and fizzles.

_Well, there goes _that, I think as I rubbed my eyes.

I fidget a little, then shrug and head towards the home. The worst I can get is no, right? If a bed is open, or even a section in a stall, it'll be better than the outdoors. I might be able to sleep without worrying about a wolf eating my face.

My mind wanders as I wearily make my way up the road. Images are dancing in the dark, pictures of the past, and no matter how much I try to suppress them, they come together and form a slide that I don't want to see.

* * *

**"K**halalily!"

My eye twitched at the nickname and the man that engulfed me in a bear hug, cackling in my ear. Ianira and I had arrived in the Imperial City an hour ago, and she'd left to reserve her spot in the Arena. It'd taken me an hour to find my uncle in the Market District, where our normal home was, and thankfully he wasn't wearing his usual professional clothing. Instead he had a clean blue tunic on under a light brown vest, with dark green pants and black boots. His gold tresses were tied back in a low ponytail with only a strand hanging in his blue eyes. There were a few wrinkles starting to show, even at twenty-six, and that was probably due to me. My parents had left me at five to join the Imperial army, and my uncle had been the only one left who could take me in. Those ten years had been hard for the both of us, but in the end, he was my best friend and mentor, even if he was a bit unbearable at times.

"Hello, Uncle Pratt," I said, forcing a smile on my face as he let me go and grinned at me. "Can you _please_ stop calling me that?"

"It fits you!" Pratt cried. "Well, in one of those 'this is an ironic nickname' kind of ways, since an _actually_ calla lily is much more graceful than you are!"

He fell into a giggle fit as he wrapped me up in another of his bone crushing hugs. I rolled my eyes and hugged him back.

"So, how was your trip over?" he asked as he put an arm around my shoulders and led me down the street.

"Good as always, Uncle," I told him.

"You two didn't sleep in the same cot did you?"

"_No_, like I've told you _every time you ask_, Ianira and I don't sleep together."

My uncle gave me a mocking suspicious look until I glared at him.

"Yes, yes, I know," he said, ruffling my hair. "I'm just teasing you again."

"As always," I sighed, although there was a smile on my face.

"I may as well, there's going to be a time when you're too old for it."

"And then you'll sit me in the court and make fun of me in front of noblemen."

"Only a little."

We laughed loudly, bringing a few eyes to us. While my uncle and I weren't the biggest story in town, we definitely caught people's attention whenever we were about. Part of that was my influence in the Arena. Surviving for two years was a big deal. Apparently I had been a source of giant bets when I started, with most of them saying that I would surely die. Only my uncle bet on me, a lot of money too. That was how we were able to buy our house. Of course, he wasn't able to pull the same stunt twice, so he had to stick with his responsibilities entertaining the noblemen.

"Any business tonight?" I asked, nodding to a dark elf as she passed.

"Yes, unfortunately," Uncle Pratt sighed. "Apparently Lord Riold wants me to return for the evening."

"Lord Riold? But he hates you."

"I know he does. A job is a job though, so I'm going."

I cringed. We stopped at the Feed Bag and held the door open for two women, then went in ourselves.

"We don't need the money that badly, Uncle," I tell him as we head to the bar. "The last time you were there he _threw_ things at you."

"It was only a plate," he told me.

"Uh huh. A _plate_ left a gash in your arm and bruises all over your face. Forgive me for believing it was _more_ than a plate."

"Yes, well," Uncle Pratt started, that secret grin on his face. "Either way, the rent is coming up, and we've barely managed to hold on to the house as it is, and he's offered a fine sum if I come in."

"Khalid, you're back!" Delos Fandas, the publican of Feed Bag, greeted as he handed my uncle a drink. "How is Bravil doing?"

"Just as dingy and sad as ever, but the sky was nice," I said, shaking his hand when he offered it. "How have things been here?"

"Oh, full of gossip. Has Pratt told you?"

"No, no he hasn't." I turned and squinted at my uncle. He only bobbed an eyebrow at me as he sipped his drink. "Leaving me in the dark again, huh?"

"One of the Arena Bloodletters was found slaughtered last week," Delos confided, leaning close to me. "New girl from the Blue Team!"

My blood instantly went cold. Uncle Pratt set down his mug and wrapped an arm around my neck, his eyes narrowed at the dark elf.

"The work of a psycho passing through the city," he told me, his voice even as he squeezed my shoulder. "Nothing to worry about."

"Pratt, you can't withhold the truth from the boy, he deserves to know─"

"_I'll_ decide what my nephew should know, Delos."

I turn to my uncle, a shiver running through me when he met my eyes. His brow twitched, then he shook his head.

"They're saying she was killed by an assassin," he sighed. "...From the Dark Brotherhood."

If my heart had stopped before, it was ripped from my chest now. The Dark Brotherhood had always been a presence I was aware of, but never had they stepped into my life. An Arena combatant, slaughtered? Why?

"That's just the rumor though," Uncle Pratt said, slapping me on the back. "No one knows for certain."

"Oh, on the contrary!" Delos laughed dryly. "From what I hear there was a nightshade left at the scene, along with a large black hand print burned onto the poor soul's armor─"

"That's _enough_ Delos!"

"Uncle, why would they kill a combatant?" I squeaked. "Doesn't that mean that..."

My uncle hissed under his breath, then drained the rest of his tankard.

"Until next time, Delos," he said, dropping some coins onto the counter as he stood.

"Have a good day, Pratt," Delos answered as I followed him out the door.

"Uncle!" I cried as soon as we were on the streets. "You can't keep this from me!"

"Why not, huh?" Uncle Pratt sighed as he walked briskly, his hands in his pockets. It seemed like he was trying to run from me. "You've only just gotten back. What's the sense in spoiling the day?"

"What's the _sense_? Uncle, if the Dark Brotherhood is taking contracts for Arena combatants then the next time it could be Ianira! It could be me─"

"_Stop it_!" he cried, screeching to a halt and glaring at me. His blue eyes were fearful, and it made me feel five again. "Do _not_ speak like that. The Dark Brotherhood was hired for one contract, one. That girl was fairly new and could have made someone else, outside of the Arena, upset."

"But Uncle─"

"No buts, this conversation is over. You're safe, and so is Ianira. That is the end of it."

I examined the desperation on his face, then lowered my chin and nodded. My uncle softened, and I squeezed my eyes shut when he came over me and drew me into his arms.

"You're safe, Khalid," he said. "Don't worry, you're safe."

I nodded, even though I didn't believe him at all. It felt like the world had just collapsed around me. As if the threats of being killed in the Arena wasn't enough, now I had to watch my back everywhere_ else_?

But Ianira. Oh gods, Ianira! She was so talented, what if someone went after her? A common warrior was no match for her, but a Dark Brotherhood assassin? I didn't know of anyone who had even seen them and lived, not if they weren't as murderous as them. I had to warn her, before...I couldn't even think of what would happen if I didn't.

"Maybe I_ should_ stay home," Uncle Pratt said as he pulled me away and put a hand on the back of my head.

"You said we need the money..." I rasped.

"We do, but not that much."

I saw the stress in his eyes, even as he smiled at me.

"No, go," I said. "We really do need the money, and you love your job."

He bit his lip, then squeezed my shoulders.

"Why don't you come with me tonight?"

My eyes widened. Uncle Pratt had never invited me to see him perform before, usually he just practiced his routines at home and ask me to critique them.

"...Really?"

"Sure, in fact I really think you should. It will make both you and me feel much better."

"Uh, yeah, okay."

"Good," he said, trying to smile again. This time I returned it. "Now come on. Ianira will be competing soon, and if we hurry we can try convincing Hundolin that we've never been to the Arena before."

I laughed, weakly, but managed. We were silent as we walked the rest of the way to the Arena, deep in thought. There was something in the air that I couldn't wave away, something that chilled my spine and squeezed my heart. I could only relate this feeling to when the Oblivion Gates had opened and my uncle and I had to take refuge in the woods, fearing every day that our world would be destroyed before our eyes.

_Well, if we could go through that, and have everything settle back into order, then maybe this will be the same?_ I thought as the guards opened the gates for us. _I mean, I'm not that good in the Arena anyway, and as long as both Ianira and I are on the look out, she won't be in any danger either._

But I still couldn't shake that feeling. Like someone was watching me from the shadows, waiting for me. I just didn't know who.

* * *

**"A**h, Khalid! It is good to see you again!"

"Hello, Agronak!"

I crossed the Bloodworks to where the Grey Prince was practicing. He was hefting an iron sword, but his elven blade gleamed from its place at his hip.

"Got a match tonight?" I asked as I clasped hands with my orc friend.

"Yes, some Altmer wants to test her metal against mine," he sighed as he leaned the iron sword against the wall. "Best on the yellow team or something like that. I'm gonna feel mighty bad when my blade runs through her."

"Really?"

He grinned.

"Nah. That wench has been bragging about cutting my head clean off my shoulders and sending it to the Isles. I look forward to proving her wrong."

I laughed with him. Agronak was a close friend, the only one on the blue team to have believed I could make it this far. Owyn still gives me those looks everytime I pick up a sword, like I'm going to trip and slice my leg off.

"Hey, thanks again for this," Agronak said, clapping me on the shoulder as he pulled out the sapphire ring he'd strung around his neck. "With this and the scroll, everyone is reassured of my noble birth. The nobles are even talking of letting me reforge the castle, make it look like it did back then. I think my father would have liked that. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"Oh, it's, uh, no big deal, Ag," I stammered, unable to look at the ring. "What are friends for, right?"

He clapped me on the shoulder again and laughed heartily. I hid the guilty cringe on my face as I sat on one of the benches. A week ago Agronak had asked me to search out the ruined castle his mother had supposedly worked at. He had wanted me to prove that his father was the nobleman that had fallen for the orc maid, thus making the Grey Prince royal in a sense and giving more than a flourish to his champion title. I had readily agreed, thinking there couldn't be much harm in it. But what I found in those dusty, broken bowels, I couldn't bring myself to tell him. How do you tell someone that their "nobleman" father was really a blood-thirsty _vampire_? The journal had been so..._disturbing_, I couldn't bare to bring it to him. Instead I searched the room and found a sapphire ring with the name of his father and forged a scroll recording Agronak's birth. It was more than enough to convince the courts, and Agronak. There was a pang of guilt every time he brought it up, but I knew it was better that he stay in the dark of his father's true nature.

"So, I assume you've heard the news," Agronak started, his good mood diminishing as he sat beside me. "About...you know..."

"The Bloodletter, yeah," I said, tightening my grip on the bench. "I heard."

"Terrible business, that," the Gladiator interjected while he raised his bow and shot an arrow at the target. "Don't know if I'll ever get it out of my head."

"So, then it was them? The Dark Brotherhood."

"Shh, _shh_! Don't say their _name_, Khalid! You don't know who's listening."

"Ah, let the boy say whatever he wants," Owyn scolded, appearing next to us and leaning on the doorframe. "Ain't no one in here performing the Black Sacrament, I can tell you that much."

"But how do you _know_?" the Gladiator asked, his brow knit.

"Perception, my wood elf colleague. Everyone on this team is good enough that they don't need filthy tricks to ascend in ranks. It's likely a yellow team reject. Maybe even the Altmer our Grey Prince is fighting tonight."

"Wouldn't that be a hoot," Agronak said with a smirk.

I shivered, staring at the bricks on the floor. Agronak rested a hand on my shoulder.

"It's alright, Khalid, it probably doesn't mean anything. An outside grudge, that's all."

"My uncle already said that," I said miserably. "But what if it's _not_?"

"Then we just desecrate the Yellow Team like we're supposed to and we won't have anything to worry about," Owyn said with a shrug. "I don't know why someone would put a contract out for Arena warriors anyway, they could have just waited until they got in the Arena and let nature take its course. Someday every one of us is going to meet our dues. It just means the fool's impatient."

"Or unskilled," Agronak added.

"Or afraid of death," the Gladiator pitched in. "You can't die by your competition's hand if they themselves are dead."

"How is this supposed to cheer me up?" I asked, giving Agronak a weary look. "I just feel sick all over."

"Ah, just focus on your match, kid," Owyn offered. "Got one lined up for you if you want it."

"No thanks," I sighed. "I think I'll just watch Agronak's and head home."

"Well, if he's not taking one, I may as well go on next," the Grey Prince said, standing up with a renewed vigor. "Who's fighting now?"

"Argh, Eirke just went into the arena against that damned Graceful Mage," Owyn growled. "If she's fighting like she usually does, we've seen the last of that kid."

"Serves him right, coming today, when we warned him she'd be here," the Gladiator laughed. "Poor kid. At least she ends them quickly."

I smiled secretly. Usually I'd be a bit sad at seeing a teammate go, but Eirke wasn't the smartest Myrmidon in the group, and we had tried to tell him that fighting Ianira was a bad idea. I'd even gone to the lengths of inviting him to one of her matches to show him firsthand, but he was dead set on fighting her.

"Seems we're losing a lot of our lower ranks lately," Owyn grumbled, ruffling my hair. "We're even lucky _you_ made it to Warrior, Khal."

"I made it because I don't freak out when I hit the ground," I told him, shoving his hand away. "Which happens a _lot_, I know."

"Really though, you're not faking?" the Gladiator asked. "I mean, it happens _every_ match. Soon they won't fall for it anymore."

"Yeah, but Khalid will certainly fall enough for the both of them!" Argronak cracked.

The men laughed as I turned beet red and started shoving them.

"Alright you lot!" Ysabel Andronicus, the Battle Maiden, shouted as she came through the front door. "Enough horsing around. Whoever is next needs to get their hide in gear. The Graceful Mage just took another of our ranks down, and we need a pick-me-up quick."

"Guess that'd be me then," Agronak said, smiling so much his fangs looked longer. "Wish me luck fellas."

He stopped and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Meet me after the match, okay? We'll get to talking more about this Brotherhood business. Maybe I can convince ya not to be afraid of them, alright?"

I nodded, trying a smile. He went off with Ysabel and I sighed, then stood and went off to find my uncle. A good Grand Champion battle was what I needed right now.

* * *

"Good job today, Agronak."

"Ah, it was nothing," the orc laughed. "Told you that wench wouldn't last a half hour."

"Yes, I could practically see you ticking off time during your fight," I said with a smirk. "It's a good thing you prolonged it. People would have been highly upset if your single blow had been the first second of the match."

"Give the audience what they came for, right?" he asked with a grin.

I laughed as we exited the Bloodworks and stepped through the throng of betters collecting or giving their money away. My uncle waved and winked from the middle. I shook my head; there was no way he'd get past Hundolin.

"So, about this Dark Brotherhood business," Agronak started, his smile gone again. I lowered my head and examined the crowd. The wood elf Gladiator had gotten to me, saying ears could be anywhere. "Now I won't say they aren't a scary bunch, but I don't think you should...what in Malacath's name..."

I furrowed my brow and followed Agronak's astonished gaze, then stared, wide-eyed, at the short spectacle that stood before us. A...boy? about my age grinned at us, his bright, sun yellow hair practically blinding me. It was slicked up somehow into a curl, as if a horse had licked him across the face before he came here. His ears were huge and awkward looking on his small head. Was he a wood elf? Possibly, but the Gladiator in the Bloodworks would probably think twice before calling _him_ brother!

_Maybe he just...hasn't grown into his features yet?_ I thought as he bound closer to us, his golden eyes gleaming.

"Wow! You're the Grand Champion!" the kid cried as soon as he came up to Agronak. "I saw your match against that challenger today! By Azura you were _amazing_!"

I blinked a couple times. From the distance he had started at, I had thought he was really small. But now that he was standing in front of us, he was only a couple inches shorter than I was.

"Why thank you," Agronak said, laughing heartily. "And you are─"

"Can I...can I...follow you around?" the kid asked. "I won't get in the way, honest!"

"Whoa, wait," I interjected, shocked at his brazen request. "We were kinda talking here─"

"It's alright, Khalid," Agronak said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I shifted and sent a harsh glare the kid's way. My eyes narrowed more when he flashed one back at me.

"I really do appreciate the offer," the Grey Prince told him. "But we _were_ talking about something important, so maybe later on you and I can walk around for a bit. I might even let you carry my sword."

The wood elf beamed at the offer, but I couldn't help giving Agronak a hurt glare. The Grey Prince never let anyone touch his sword, _anyone_! Why did _this_ kid get the chance?

"Agronak─" I started.

"Khalid!"

I whirled around to see my uncle waving at me. He pointed to a crowd and twirled his left hand, our sign that Ianira was out. I hissed and turned back to Agronak, my jaw slacking as I tried to think of some sort of reason.

"It's okay, Khalid, we can talk later," the Grey Prince said, smiling at me. "How about tomorrow after your match?"

I bit my lip and glanced at the wood elf. He was smirking at me triumphantly, making my blood boil.

"...Yeah...that's okay," I said through my teeth. "I'll see you later."

Agronak clapped me on the shoulder before I left, then turned back to the wood elf. I stormed over to my uncle, unable to stop turning to look back at them.

"Something wrong?" Uncle Pratt asked when I reached him.

"Yes..._no_...I don't know," I snarled, my hands balled into fists.

He tilted his head, then looked over at Agronak.

"Oh." He must have spotted the super fan. "Did he interrupt you?"

"_Yes_."

"Huh. He's a strange looking wood elf, isn't he?"

"He doesn't even _look_ like a wood elf!" I shouted. "He looks more like he _ate_ a wood elf and is trying to wear his _ears_!"

"Shh! _Khalid_!" Uncle Pratt scolded, appalled at my outburst. "That's _no_ way to talk about someone."

"But Uncle─"

"No buts. You don't need to talk like that."

My jaw popped open, but I forced it closed and fumed silently. He grabbed me by the elbow, firm but not harsh.

"I know that you're upset," he hissed as he came closer to me. "It's not fair that you're going through this. But you can't take it out on someone else, okay?"

I nodded reluctantly.

"Okay. Now come on, it looks like Ianira's crowd is diminishing."

The thought of seeing Ianira smoothed ruffled feathers and caused me to smile a little; but then I turned to glimpse Agronak. I froze, jerking my uncle back.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Where's Agronak?"

"What?"

I searched the area again but didn't find the orc anywhere.

"Agronak. Where did he go?"

"Oh, he probably went home, Khalid," my uncle said.

"But he always greets everyone as they head out. He says it's his favorite part after all the fights are done..."

I flinched when someone's hand slipped into mine. I turned to see Ianira, her brow furrowed in concern as she stared up at me.

"What is it?" she asked knowingly.

"Agronak's gone," I said reflexively.

"What?"

"Now, hold up," Uncle Pratt said. "We don't know if he's _gone_. Maybe he went off with that fan to show him a good time."

I shivered. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"He comes by here on his way home, right?" Ianira offered. "So how about we wait? He's sure to come back."

"That could be hours from now..."

Ianira grabbed my chin and looked into my eyes. I swallowed hard as she nodded.

"That's okay, I don't have anything to do today," she said. Uncle Pratt's jaw tightened when she looked at him. "Do you have a job tonight?"

"Yes, unfortunately," he sighed.

"Then go ahead. Me and Khalid will come home after we talk to Agronak."

He hesitated, then nodded, glancing at me. I nodded too, even though my body felt frozen.

"I'll come by too, before I head to Lord Riold's castle."

He put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sure he's okay, Khalid," he told me again.

I nodded and he hugged me, then hurried towards the house. Ianira looked around at the emptying streets before sitting down on the steps. I followed suit and stared at my boots, feeling numb all over.

"Khalid?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me what's going on."

* * *

**"...I** don't even know what to say."

I nodded quietly. Ianira shivered and snuggled into my shoulder. There wasn't anyone out now, with a new set of matches starting, so we didn't have to worry about being spotted.

"Well, maybe it _was_ just a coincidence," she said, looking up at me. "Or maybe the contract was just for that one person."

I looked down at the hope in her eyes and couldn't answer. She sagged and looped her arm through mine.

"A girl can dream, right?" she mumbled.

"You could be right," I said dully.

"I'd feel better if you meant that."

"I just want to wait for Agronak. If..._when_ he comes by, I'll gladly tell you that it was a coincidence."

She nodded sullenly, fiddling with my sleeve. A _clank_ caught our attention, and we stood as the gates opened to let someone in. I rushed over, barely noticing that I was pulling Ianira with me. I skidded to a stop when I saw it was my uncle.

He looked ridiculous as always, dressed in the red and black motley he donned for his job. The collar was edged in gold, and there was a criss cross of strings to keep the top layer over his chest. He was fiddling with the belt across the waist when he looked up at me. His pants were the red and black like his tunic, and his curly toed boots were outlined in the same gold at the cuffs, ankles and around the sides, matching his gloves with their swirls. There were patches sewn in a couple places from where tears had formed.

"That look tells me Agronak hasn't come by yet," Uncle Pratt guessed when we sagged.

"No, he hasn't," I sighed as he came up to me. "Uncle, I'm really worried."

"Okay," he started, rubbing his gloved hands together before putting them on my shoulders and looking me dead in the eyes. "Khalid, who is it that we're waiting for?"

"...Agronak..."

"Precisely. And _what_ does Agronak do for a living?"

"He...fights," I said, sheepishly turning my head. "In the Arena."

"And is this a random Pit Dog or even a Hero we're talking about?"

"No...no he's not."

"Then I think it's time you remember that Agronak is the _Grand Champion_, and can take perfectly good care of himself."

I nodded, my face turning red. For the second time that day I felt like I was five years old. He sighed.

"It's my fault for letting Delos talk to you about this. I knew it wasn't right to thrust that on you when we know so little about the situation."

Ianira came closer and wrapped her arm around mine.

"I'm sorry I overreacted," I grumbled.

"Don't apologize, you had the best intentions."

He gave me a hopeful grin.

"Do you want to come with me to Lord Riold's then? I would really appreciate it."

I bit my lip, then looked back at the gate. It didn't open, so I nodded, trying to return his smile.

"Good," he sighed. "I was more than a little nervous that I'd have to go alone."

"Oh, can I come?" Ianira asked. "I've never watched you perform before."

My uncle hesitated, but ended up with a wider grin.

"Sure, why not," he said.

She smiled and hugged him. I felt a little of the weight come off me, but it was tinged with worry. I shook my head a little; it was nothing, _nothing_. Everyone was right, the contract for the Bloodletter was coincidental. We were okay, Agronak was okay. Everything would be okay.

Looking back at it now, I only wish it _had_ been.


	3. Chapter 3

**N**o fair. No fair...no fair..._no fair_!

That was the only thing racing through my head as I stared down at the body lying before me, already engulfed with flies. Chunks of his torso and face were gone, probably carried off by bears. There was a streak of blood on the ground that the guards had used to find the corpse; it spanned five feet at least, so whatever the creature had been, they must have been scared off by the search party. The golden armor that had served the poor soul in life had been no help against the teeth of animals, convincing me that he had been dead before they started devouring. That was a comfort to cling to later, but I didn't look too deeply into it as I stared at the giant scorch on the front, the black...ugly burn across the red velvet holding the Imperial symbol.

"I thought so," one of the guards grumbled to another. "Only a matter of time."

"They sure _love_ rubbing their existence into our faces, don't they?" his colleague agreed, shaking his head at the burn. "No doubt now, this is definitely a Dark Brotherhood kill."

"A shame. The Grey Prince, throat sliced by an assassin. Not the kind of death he deserved."

My vision blurred as I felt Uncle Pratt's arm draw me to him. Agronak's eyes were still open, shock still laced in them. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair_! I clenched my jaw tightly as my uncle pulled me back and knelt next to the Grey Prince. I heard him make a choking sound, then reached up and drew Agronak's eyelids down. He was still wearing his motley.

"Was there anything found?" Uncle Pratt asked the guards as he stood.

"No, just the body and the streak of blood."

"Anyone seen leaving with him?"

"No I don't...oh, wait there was wasn't there?"

I tore my eyes away from my friend and glared at the guards as they looked at each other.

"You saw him too? I didn't quite believe my eyes at first. He was such a sight."

"What did he look like?" Uncle Pratt asked, his voice pinching.

"You'll never believe it, but he had the _yellowest_ hair on his head. Kept talking about worshiping the ground Agronak walked on and such─"

"Uncle..." I choked out.

I pointed at the pinkish thing laying beside Agronak's body. My uncle followed and seemed to freeze in time. It was one of the guards that came over and picked the pointed object up. His brow furrowed in disgust.

"I think it's an _ear_."

My knees caved and landed hard on the ground. My uncle was next to me in a second, holding me close as I sobbed uncontrollably.

Not fair. Not fair at all.

* * *

**"W**hat do you _mean_ you won't help?"

I groan and force my eyes open as the scream pierces the peaceful morning. Unfortunately for me and whoever was screaming, I'm sore, and rediscovering that I'm not a morning person.

"It's like I said, I _can't_ help you," I hear Loreius say. "I don't have the tools, or the know-how. I'm _sorry_."

I sit up as whoever he's talking to whines loudly. It sounds like Loreius isn't very generous; I'm lucky I got the wheat grinder. I rub my hands across my face and stretch as the strange, squeaky voiced man continues.

"But Cicero will pay you! Shiny coin! _Clinky_ coin! Just _please_ fix his cart!"

My stomach sinks down into my boots, then shoots up into my throat, then creeps back down my spine, sending cold, sick chills racing through me. It can't be him...there's no way. I grab my bag and rifle through it until I find my uncle's cap. I rub the fabric between my fingers, then close my eyes and take an unnecessary breath in. I open them and shove my head out.

Oh..._gods_...

"Don't walk away, come _back_!" Cicero cries as Loreius starts for his home. "Cicero isn't done _talking_ yet!"

"Well _Loreius_ certainly is. Find someone else to help you."

I can't think properly as I pull my head back and stare at the straw. There is no way that is him! He...he's dead. I'd plucked that hat from the Lady Luck rubble myself; how is it on his _head_? I pull open my pack and stare at it, seeing absolutely nothing that told me it wasn't my Uncle Pratt's.

My hands shake. I reach up and slip my hood over my face, slowly, as I glance over at the house. If there is any chance at all that this is...him...then Loreius needs to be warned, before he does something that will get both him and his wife killed. Dealing with anyone like him is dangerous, so whether I want to or not, I have to brave being seen.

"_Argh_! Bother and befuddle!" I hear Cicero crying as I fix my hood and stand. "Stuck here..._stuck_! My mother my _poor_ mother! Unmoving. At rest...but too _still_!"

_Who is he talking to?_ I ask myself as I grab my pack and sling it over my shoulder, then turn.

I can't help the cry that explodes out of my throat as I jump back and fall into the straw. Somehow Cicero is only inches from me, his gloved fists curled tightly as his breath comes out in loud gasps. I twitch as I take in his red hair (down to the collar of the red and black motley) pale face, and slanted brow. Those gold eyes are the same as the ones in my nightmares, except they're desperate and crazed, as if something has snapped in his head. I guess he has just turned twenty-five, maybe twenty-six. But it's impossible, because _I'm_ two hundred years old. I _met_ this man a hundred and eighty-six years ago!

And Cicero's eyes aren't glowing because of vampirism.

We stare at each other for what seems like forever before I shift, my left hand floating to tug my hood down as my right grabs the dagger strapped to the back of my belt.

"...Problem?" I rasp.

I barely catch Cicero's movements, but I suddenly feel his hands around my collar. He hoists me up and throws me out of the stalls before I can even pull the knife out. I shout when he grabs my arm and starts to shake me, pointing at his cart just off the road.

"D'oh, poor Cicero is stuck, can't you _see_?" he cries, his voice so shrill I cringe. "I was transporting my dear, sweet mother, well, not her, her _corpse_. She's quite dead."

The way he laughs at the last bit makes my blood curl. I can barely look at the large crate Cicero is pointing at. For all I know he's killed someone and stuffed her body inside.

"I'm taking Mother to a new home," Cicero is telling me, to which I lower my head. "A new crypt. But..."

I flinch when he cries out.

"Argh! Wagon wheel! _Damndest_ wagon wheel! It broke, don't you _see_?"

I nod, trying to step towards the house, but Cicero doesn't let go. I glance up and see a flicker in his face as he tries to look under my hood.

"Per...Perhaps...the kindly stranger could _help_ poor Cicero?"

This act of his is good. I'm starting to see red as I get over the shock of seeing his and take another look at the motley donning his body; it's exactly like my uncle's had been, although a few more patches have been added. He's even taken to my uncle's favorite third person act. My brow twitches, my hand shakes. Every part of me wants to rip him to shreds.

But then I catch his hand twitch. I hadn't even noticed that his arm is down, near a hilt. I'm fast, but so is he. What if he gets past me and goes after Loreius? Can I take that chance?

I clench my jaw, and nod, fighting to put a smile on my face to seem sincere. Cicero's features soften instantly.

"I...can try talking to Loreius for you," I say through my teeth.

"Oh _yes_!" Cicero cheers, finally releasing my arm. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!"

I stiffen as he bounces around me, giggling like a mad man.

"Not...a problem," I growl, stopping him. "Just, uh, stay by the wagon, and I'll...go get him."

"Oh yes, Cicero will wait right there, right there, right with Mother," he says, that huge grin on his face. "Convince the farmer, and I'll make it worth your while!"

He whines happily as he races down the hill to the cart. I'm in the house the moment he turns, slamming the door shut and leaning against it.

"Oh for the love of Mara, what─"

Loreius stops mid sentence when he sees that it's me.

"What is it, Khalid?" Curwe, his wife, asks. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"That...man out there needs help," I gasp, looking straight at Loreius. "You need to help him."

"That _Cicero_ fella?" Loreius scoffs. "Tell me something I don't know. Seems he's not satisfied with my answer."

"He's got coin, he'll pay you."

"_Pay_ me? You think this is about _money_?"

"Vantus..." Curwe starts.

"Have you _seen_ the man?" Loreius continues. "A jester? Here in Skyrim? Ain't been a merry man in these parts for over a hundred years."

"But he's not─" I start.

"And he's transporting some giant box. Says it's his mother. Mother my _eye_."

Well...that is a good point.

"He could have _anything_ in there. War contraband. Weapons. _Skooma_! Ain't no way I'm getting involved in any of that."

I growl and run my hands through my hair. His argument is sound, to be honest; if I didn't know who was outside, I probably would have been swayed. But I do know who's out there, and I know exactly what will happen if I can't get him to help.

"I know you're looking out for you and your wife," I start. "And I know you don't know me. But _please_, believe me when I tell you that you _have_ to help him."

"_Why_?" Loreius asks, crossing his arms. "What can you possibly know about him?"

"I know enough. You have to trust me."

"And just who in Mara's name are you to tell me that?"

"_Vantus_," Curwe interjects, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Please, I sense he's telling the truth."

Loreius starts to argue, but the look his wife gives him stops his words. There's a silent conversation and conflict between the two, then Loreius sighs.

"Okay," he tells me, his eyes calculating. "Give me one moment."

I relax as he strides to the other side of room. There's a pile of tools there, and he stoops down to dig through them.

"Here, let me get you something to eat," Curwe offers to me.

"No need," Loreius says, coming over to us with various equipment. "At least not yet."

I give him a wary look when he stops in front of me.

"Now then, this tool," he starts, holding one up. "Will help with tightening the wheel."

"Uh...okay?" I say, taking it when he hands it to me.

"These will keep it on." He hands me a bag of jingling metal. "Secure them good, or the wheel will just fall off again."

"Um, yeah, I guess it would."

"And this will help get the wheel up easier for you."

I have the final tool in my hand when I realize what he's insinuating.

"_Oh no_! Not _me_!" I cry.

"Why not?" Loreius challenges. "You say you know the guy, and you now know what to do to fix the wheel."

"Well...uh..."

"Good. You go help him, and I'll even let you keep what he's offering."

"Vantus, are you sure that's safe?" Curwe asks as he opens the door for me.

"_Really_, I don't think I'm suited for the─"

Loreius shoves me out of the house and slams the door shut. I'm looking straight at Cicero's hopeful grin before I even grasp it.

"...Job..."

"Did Loreius agree to fix Cicero's wheel?" the fake jester asks, his hands clasped together.

His face falls when he sees all the tools in my hands.

"Oh? Why does the kindly stranger have those?"

"Uh...you see─"

"The farmer refused to help poor Cicero, didn't he?"

His voice is deep, hurt and malicious, and I don't like the way he glances at the house.

"He doesn't know how," I say quickly, averting his attention. "So he gave me his tools."

He actually cocks an eyebrow at me.

"And the kindly _stranger_ knows how to fix wheels?"

"I certainly do _now_..." I growl to myself as I walk passed him.

Cicero still doesn't look convinced, but he follows me to the cart. A tingle runs down my spine as I get closer to the large crate, but I force myself to kneel next to the wheel and get to work.

"Ooh, Mother," Cicero murmurs, running his hand across the wooden box. "Soon, soon we'll be heading home.

I ignore the urge to quiver. I can't decide if it's because of fear or anguish or both. He's still stroking the crate as I empty the bag of nails into my hand, mostly to seem busy. Sure, Loreius told me what each tool does, but I'm not so sure I can make them work the way they're supposed to.

"How did the kindly stranger end up here?" Cicero asks absently.

I analyze the question for any kind of trap, then shrug.

"I was just wandering and found it," I answer. "It was late, so I asked to sleep in the grinder."

"The kindly stranger has no home?"

I wish he would stop calling me that.

"No, not at the moment. Probably won't for a while."

"How long has the stranger been traveling?"

I smirk a little, bitterly.

"Seems like forever."

He doesn't answer, and I glance up to see him nodding thoughtfully. This isn't at all how I pictured it would go. Then again, I also hadn't thought Cicero would be _alive_. My eyes flit to the cap on his head, the crimson fabric with two black stripes leading down the flaps. There's no difference at all between the one he's wearing and the one in my pack. How is that possible? It had been laying in the rubble that had been the Lady Luck statue, the hiding place of the Night Mother. He shouldn't be here, he should be buried underneath the stones, _dead_, like I'd prayed, and shouldn't be wearing a copy of my uncle's motley to _toy_ with me.

"Cicero knows the feeling," the fool states, snapping me from my thoughts and bringing my eyes back to my work on the wheel. "Cicero has been travelling very far as well. Only he and Mother..."

I force myself to nod, then pick up the wheel. It's not heavy at all, but Cicero suddenly looks down at it, then gives me an intrigued and slightly suspicious glance.

"How is the kindly stranger able to lift so easily?"

"What do you mean?"

Are wagon wheels normally heavy? It's just a hunk of wood, it can't be that bad. But Cicero's gaze hasn't changed; after a moment he shrugs and wanders somewhere behind me, probably to get to the seats. I throw out a fake grunt as I slide the wheel onto the tip of the axle, trying to shift my grip to a better position.

"Cicero just hasn't been around Nightwalkers in so long."

His words jolt me to a halt.

"He forgot how strong they are."

My hand slips off the wheel; I fumble too late and it slams me on the head, then shoves me down to the grass, suddenly too heavy to lift. It's like all my strength has left me. Blast! Why did this have to happen _now_? Cicero stumbles back so I don't land on him; his eyes widen as he stares at me.

My hood has betrayed me. My face is exposed, scars and and burning eyes and all. I can't help the shiver that races through me; I'm waiting for him to lunge at me, to try attacking me. There's a large part of me that wants to attack _him_, but movement reminds me that there's a guard out here. It wouldn't do any good to get revenge and spend the rest of my days in a dungeon.

Besides, Cicero's face is completely blank, like he doesn't know who I am. My hand flies to my dagger when he grabs the wheel and flicks it off. I scramble to a sitting position when it falls onto the axle, staring at it as Cicero grabs one of the tools. He twists something into place, then tosses the tool next to me and tugs on the wheel. It stays put. I barely have time to be surprised before he jerks me up and pats dust off me, then pulls my hood down so far over my face I feel the back of my shirt come up. I can just barely peek out from under it to see him grin as he starts rapidly shaking my hand.

"Cicero can't thank you enough, kind stranger," he says. "My mother and I are forever grateful."

When he lets go to search his pouch my arm is still in the same position. I'm literally frozen; doesn't he know me?

"Here, _here_, just like I promised," he says, shoving a heavy coin purse into my hand. "Shiny, clinky gold. A few coins for a kind deed. And thank you, _thank you_ again!"

I feel like he's making fun of me, especially since I didn't really do anything. And what did he _need_ my help for? He just fixed the wheel on his own!

I have half a mind to pull the fake jester down from the cart. I had no idea him forgetting me could be so...insulting! I mean, sure, two hundred plus years can water down a memory, but I should have at _least_ raised hairs on his neck!

Yet, he just grabs the reins of his horse and takes off. How the creature can move so fast with the giant crate is a mystery to me, but it does, almost barrelling into the guard as it leaves. I can't help but stare after him, my heart pounding in my ears.

"In a bit of a hurry, ain't he?" the guard marvels as he comes closer.

"Is there somewhere in this godsforsaken country that you can report Dark Brotherhood sightings?" I hear myself ask.

"Brotherhood sightings? When have you-"

"Never. Not lately. I just need to know."

This has got to stop. No more running, no more hiding. I should have done this a long time ago.

"Well, I don't know specific details," the guard starts warily. "But there's a Commander Maro in Dragon Bridge that is looking for people for who've-"

"Thank you," I snap, whirling around and storming back to the house.

I can't see Cicero's cart anymore, but it doesn't matter. I grab my pack and immediately head in the opposite direction, towards Dragon Bridge and this "Commander Maro". He might not be able to help much, but he can at least give me the resources and any leads they have. But it won't be enough. I'm not just looking for the annihilation of the Dark Brotherhood. I'm looking to annihilate them while Cicero watches.

My past has bitten me in the jugular once again. It's about time I bite back.


	4. Chapter 4

**M**y respect for people lately has depended upon more shallow reasons than they used to. It probably has something to do with me never aging and everyone else dropping like flies. Or because people in Skyrim tend to be obnoxiously arrogant fools towards a mysterious appearing-sixteen-year-old Imperial. The way someone looks, acts, and speaks to me the first time I meet them defines who they are in my mind, and a lot of times it doesn't change.

So, needless to say, upon arriving to the Penitus Oculatus Outpost in Dragon Bridge, I found Commander Maro to be douche.

Appearance-wise he looks like a man in control, with his menacing scowl and red Oculatus armor. His black hair is pushed back behind his ears and there are dark circles under his eyes. His thread-thin mustache and sliver of hair running down his chin kind of kill it for me, since it mostly just looks like he hasn't washed dirt off his face. But he's an Imperial as well, so I should be feeling a little kinship with him.

His attitude ruins that for me.

For starters, the moment I walked in, he assured me we had nothing to discuss, and barely listened to anything I said after that. The dirty look he threw me when I said I saw a Dark Brotherhood assassin was another kick in the pants, but that wasn't even what drove me over.

It was the fact that he _laughed_.

And is _still_ laughing. As I'm standing here.

_Gods_ I hate people.

"Boy, you really expect me to _believe_ that, don't you?" Maro says, wiping his eyes. "I assure you, if you had seen a Dark Brotherhood assassin, you'd be _dead_."

"What makes you say _that_?" I growl, my eyes blazing.

"Well...well _look_ at you! A _twig_ is bigger! And that _needle_ you've got strapped to your ass wouldn't have helped you any!"

My eyebrow raises. The fact that he saw my dwarven dagger (found in a wreckage I'd camped in yesterday) is impressive, whether I want to admit it or not.

"I can handle myself _fine_," I say.

"Really? It must be that _elven_ part of you talking, because I'm not seeing _anything_ that tells me you could."

I bite the inside of my cheek in agitation. For some reason, the people who aren't Vigilant of Stendarr or someone like Falion believe that my eyes are the way they are because I have a parent or ancestor that was an elf. Most of the time people guess Altmer, sometimes I get Wood Elf, and almost never Dark Elf, since theirs tend to be deep red or light pink. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind that I'm not hacked at every time I come into a city or village. I just know that every time they come to that conclusion, I become more alienated than when I'm just an Imperial with strange eyes.

"The Dark Brotherhood are an elusive group who kill and recruit, not leave people alive so they can _tattle_," Maro says, recovering from his amusement. "Likely you just saw a thieving attempt gone bad."

"I _told_ you, they didn't know I was watching," I repeat. I had told a pretty convincing story, so I don't know why he doesn't believe me. "The Dark Brotherhood murders, yes, but they murder for gold. _Septims_. Even if they did notice me, likely their contract wouldn't allow them to kill anyone else, so I would have been spared."

I hate that I have to make it sound like luck or good fortune that I'm still alive, but if it gets me any information from him I need to.

"Hmph," Maro sneers, examining me more closely. "I will say, it's refreshing when someone admits they aren't invincible."

The irony in that statement kills me.

"I just want to know if I can help in any way," I sigh, ignoring the urge to add a roll of my eyes. "They seem like a menace and a guard told me you were _capable_ enough to get rid of them."

The way I say "capable" clearly states that I don't agree with the imaginary guard that told me such a thing, but Maro of course doesn't know that. He puffs almost immediately, his eyes blazing, as if I have pulled my dagger out and challenged him to a duel.

"We're fully capable of defeating the Dark Brotherhood without the help of some..._boy_," he snarls. "We already have people stationed around to monitor their movements."

My interest is peaked at this information.

"What makes you think they won't be caught?"

"My men are the best. The last thing they will be is caught."

I search his eyes. I've been around enough liars and honest folk to tell when someone is bluffing, fluffing themselves up to seem bigger than they are. Maro doesn't know anything. Not anything that's going to _help_ me anyway.

"Forgive me," I say with a tight smile. "I guess I forgot who I was speaking to."

"Yes, you very well _did_," Maro growls. "Glad to see you've been reassured. Are we done now?"

"You know, I think we _are_."

I gave a small, slightly sarcastic bow, then turned to the door. So much for the "great" Penitus Oculatus; I may as well have told a _mudcrab_ that I want to get rid of the Brotherhood.

The door opens before I can grab it, and I stare into the same eyes I have just turned away from. That really is where the similarities between Maro and this man end. While the shape of his eyes are the same, his are blue instead of deep brown. His face is much more square and sharper than Maro's, and his skin is deeply tanned. The quick swipe of his eyes is that of a young soldier, new to the harshness of Oculatus life.

"Need something, Gaius?" Maro asks curtly.

My ears prick at the tone. It's not as sharp as it had been when I came into the room.

"Yes, Father," Gaius says, filling in the gap before I can do it myself. He gives me another sweep before heading towards Maro. "I wanted to talk to you about the Security schedule-"

"We'll talk in a moment," Maro interrupts.

I get that piercing gaze. I pretend not to know why he's giving it to me just so he can scowl.

"You know your way out, kid."

His eyes look like their trying to stab me when I smirk at him.

"I hope I see you again, Commander," I say as I turn. "If not, may I hear that you've killed every last one of those assassins."

He impatiently waves me away and I finally step out of the Outpost. The sun is bright and I adjust my hood. People are bustling about, children running around, peaceful. It's a shame I can't stay too long. There's an inn across the way, good place to stock up on food, so I shift my pack and head over.

There's only two people sitting down when I go inside. A young Nord woman is at the counter, wiping it clean with such vigor I feel like she's going to strip the top layer. The two men eye me suspiciously before going back to their conversation, something about strange roars in the night. I don't pay much attention.

"Something I can do for you?" the woman asks without looking up at me approaching. "Faida's the name. I keep the inn."

She glances up and pauses, her eyes squinting, before she goes back to scrubbing.

"Something different, I can tell," she mutters. My brow shoots up. "Hope you ain't here to cause trouble."

"Would it be too much to ask for some food?" I say carefully.

"I can get you some, yeah. The meals I serve ain't what I call a Jarl's feast, but they'll fill your belly. What were you thinking?"

"Just some bread and venison."

She nods and goes to off to get it as I dig into my pack for my coin purse.

"Did you hear the news then, about the Aretino boy?"

I hone in on the conversation between the Nord men without even thinking of it.

"Yes, I did. Crazy kid. I wish someone would stop him."

"Would you want to take the chance? He's performing the Black Sacrament. No one wants to meddle with that."

I freeze, staring into my pack with wide eyes. I'm not really hearing this. Too easy, much too easy.

"They should just send him back to the orphanage, before the assassins find him."

"It won't matter, you know how it goes. Once the Sacrament is performed they'll find you. I just hope someone has informed Jarl Ulfric of this atrocity."

I cringe and grip my pack so hard my knuckles turn white. Windhelm, damnit. Why does it have to be Windhelm?

"Yes, well, once he knows, the child will be sent back to Honorhall. Poor wretch."

"Aye, you did tell me you managed to get out of there at sixteen. One of the lucky ones I assume."

"Haha! That's an understatement. Poor Constance is still there from what I've heard. It was a miracle from Talos himself that I was able to get away, and the same goes for that Aretino boy. But he's a different story; not old enough. And let me tell you, once he's taken back, you'll have to pry him from ole Grelod the Kind's hagraven _claws_ to free him!"

* * *

**O**wyn came over and put a hand on my shoulder, staring down at the grey stone sticking out of the ground. It didn't seem like enough, just a stone that reached my waist with the name "Grey Prince" scrawled across the top. Too little, but the other noblemen had sealed the tombs that lay inside his castle, so we couldn't get in to bury him proper next to his father. So we opted for the second best, a simple stone next to his mother. I knew that Agronak would want something better, he had been a loud presence thirsty for reverence and praise. But the courts had denied our wish for a bigger marker, stated that it was too flashy for their precious cemetery, took away from all the other souls who rested. I tried my hardest to ignore the small boxed off area where their ancestor were, with their long, spired stone caskets sticking out for the common folk to see, surrounded by roses. I wished the flowers would rot and the caskets would crumble, if only to spite the noblemen that had denied Agronak the honor he deserved.

"I never thought he'd be that small," Owyn said, shaking his head at the stone. "Damn Cyrodiil politics."

"They'll get what they deserve," I said, my voice hollow. "Right?"

"We'll make _sure_ they do, kid. Ysabel's already on their case big time, and you know how she gets. Surprisingly enough that yellow team captain has offered her services as well. Agronak really had a way of earning people's respect."

I nodded absently. Ianira had come, concealed in a robe at first, but didn't need to be once the rest of her team came to listen to the eulogy and pay their respects. Out of the whole ordeal, that was the only part that made me feel better. In the Arena we were enemies, and after that day we would be again, but it reminded me of how much Agronak was loved and respected in life.

"You want me to let you alone?" Owyn asked.

I glanced over at his sullen expression, without even a speck of that rowdy fire in his eyes. It put another weight on my heart, so I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut, willing my mind to wipe the image of the grieving redguard from my memory. He left without a word and I knelt in front of Agronak's grave, touching the cool stone that held his battle name.

"Too little, my friend," I muttered to it. "You deserve so much more than this."

My hand clenched into a fist over the word "Grey", leaving only "Prince" visible.

"I'm sorry," I hissed. "_Damnit_, Ag, I'm so sorry."

This was my fault. I'd known something was wrong, and yet I allowed myself to believe everything was alright, allowed myself to be talked into some false sense of security. I'd felt it in my gut, my spine, all over. Why hadn't I listened?

A shadow stepped over me and I glanced back to see Ianira. Her cheeks and eyes were red and puffed with tears, and she stared at the stone with such a heartbreaking forlorn.

"I remember when we first started in the Arena," she whispered as I turned away and rubbed my fingers against the rough surface. "How everyone told us that we wouldn't last a day. They were all so sure we'd be killed in the first few seconds."

"I remember," I muttered.

"But when you came out, and you just threw your dagger into your opponent's skull. The crowd was so quiet, I thought I could hear your breathing even from the balcony."

A bitter smile touched my face.

"And then I turned and tripped over one of the arrows from last round."

She laughed, a shrill and sad laugh. I straightened and looped my arm around her, my cloak hiding her as she nuzzled into my side.

"Agronak said that was one of the greatest things he'd seen in a while," I said for her. "A kid at twelve, looking like he'd spent most of his life in the Forest, throwing a dagger at someone three times my size and managing to hit them right between the eyes, even though I was shaking so hard I couldn't see straight. All that just to fall flat and scurry away with a face as red as a ruby."

"It's not fair," Ianira sobbed, her eyes releasing tears that streamed quickly down her face. "It's not fair, it's just not _fair_."

I nodded and pulled her close, allowing her to cry on my chest. Her sobs were loud and drew the attention of the other attendees. My uncle, dressed in black, came to us and put a hand on Ianira's back; the yellow team's Champion was staring at me, suspicion and grief flicking across her face before she too came towards us. She knelt in front of Agronak's stone and put her hand on it as each combatant circled around the grave once more, Ianira's sobbing and a few other moans of sorrow floating into the sky. I looked away from it as tears flooded from my eyes and swore I saw the Grey Prince's face in the clouds.

* * *

**"S**weet _Mother_, sweet _Mother_ send your _child_ unto me. For the _sins_ of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear..."

I tremble at the scene before me. A skeleton is splayed across the floor of the empty room, it's grinning skull staring at the left wall. Candles are encasing it in a circle, casting shadows across the face of the young boy with the iron dagger. A book and a nightshade are next to the bones; I don't have to see a title to know what its contents are.

A sudden anger overtakes me. He still hasn't seen me, and I want so much to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth chatter, scream some sense into him. But that desire subsides and is replaced by sympathy for this Aventus. What kind of life drove him to call out for assassins? Was Grelod the Kind _that_ horrible?

I shake my head clear. Whatever the case, I have to tell him to stop.

"Hey," I start, coming into the shadowed room.

The child swivels towards me and drops his dagger, his jaw unhinging as he stares at me.

"It...It worked!" Aventus cries, letting out a cheer. "I knew you'd come I just _knew_ it!"

"Are you okay?" I ask, my eyes flicking between him and the skeleton. "How...how did you─"

"I did the Black Sacrament! Over and over with the body and the...the _things_."

He makes a face at the "things", and I catch sight of meat and a heart that I hope aren't human. Gods, how did he get them?

"And then you came!" Aventus rejoices, his face brightening. "An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood."

Those two words slam down on me so hard I think my knees buckle. He thinks...oh _gods_! There are no words for the mixture of dread and disgust I'm feeling at being confused with one of..._them_! Sure, my hood is covering my face and I probably look spooky in the low lighting, but _still_!

"_No_," I practically shout. "No, I'm not an assassin─"

"Of _course_ you are! I prayed and you came, and now you'll accept my contract!"

He's still beaming at me, as if I'm some hero for even coming here. I let out a quiet hiss of breath.

"C-Contract?" I rasp.

"My mother she...she died," he tells me, his energy depleting as he becomes lost in that thought.

"I'm sorry...what happened?"

"She got sick, last winter, during the snow. And she just...never got better. Not all year. One day she fell asleep and...never woke up. I'm all alone now."

His eyes darken.

"So they sent me to that orphanage in Riften. Honorhall."

The vicious way he says the name is enough to convince me that "Honorhall" isn't a great place. Now that I think about it, he doesn't look very healthy; he's pale and rather thin, much too thin for his size. I try to convince myself that it's the result of traveling from Riften to Windhelm and that he must not have had enough food along the way.

"The headmistress there is an evil, cruel woman," Aventus tells me, crushing my afore hope. "They call her 'Grelod the Kind', but she's not kind. She's a _monster_!"

He looks at me with that hopeful smile on his face.

"So I ran away, and performed the Black Sacrament. Now you're here, and you can _kill_ Grelod the Kind!"

"Whoa, hey!" I shout, holding my hands up as I kneel down to his level. "I told you I'm _not_ part of the Dark Brotherhood. And I can't just kill someone because...well─"

"I-I won't tell anyone!" Aventus assures me, taking nervous steps to me; his smile is gone again and he looks close to tears. "A-And I can pay you! My mother had this plate that's been in the family for...for...well it's worth something!"

"Aventus, it...it doesn't have anything to do with payment..."

"Then why? Why can't you kill her?"

"Because it's not right!" I shout, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a quick shake. "You can't kill someone because that would make you just as bad as them. I'm sure there's another way to solve this!"

I get the guilty sting at my hypocrisy, but I'm not about to condone assassination to a _kid_!

"There's not!" Aventus shouts, his eyes blazing; he's brave for a kid who thinks he's talking to a blood-thirsty killer. "I've tried telling the guards and they just laugh it off! And Jarl Laila is friends with Grelod, so we can't _ask_ for help there! The only way to get rid of her is to _kill_ her!"

I struggle to speak, then sigh and release Aventus.

"...Are you sure about this?" I ask softly. "Killing Grelod. That there isn't another way?"

"I've never been more sure of _anything_ in my life!" Aventus growls, standing as tall as a possibly-ten kid can. "Someone like Grelod doesn't deserve to live one more day!"

There's no persuading him. There's too much hardened resolve in his eyes, too much pain that he wants avenged. I don't know what to do. Every bone in my body wants to tell him I can't do it and leave, give him a coin purse and tell him not to spend it all on candy.

But there's a small part, a whispering part, that's agreeing with him. That's yearning to fulfill his wish. What creature does this to a child? I've only met one for sure.

My curiosity needs to be sated. Looks like Riften is the next mark on my map.


	5. Chapter 5

**"Y**ou've been blessed with the power of the Vampire Lord. Surely there is a _little_ joy in this─"

"Joy?" I growled, whirling and glaring at the man in front of the blood fountain. I was knelt on the floor with my throat slowly sealing itself up, the blood slipping through my fingers and back into my jugular. "_Joy_?! I asked you for a _cure_!"

"And I gave you one," Harkon said unapologetically.

"_How_ does this even come _close_ to a cure?!"

"You are stronger now. You even have a new form to change into─"

"I don't _want_ to transform, I want to be _human_─"

"Silence!"

I obeyed before I could stop myself. Harkon's fiery glare was hard and uncaring of my plight. I had come all this way to finally rid myself of the blood-thirsty, monsterous cancer that had infested me for so long. How fitting that I was now worse off than I had been before. As if the Divines didn't show their hatred for me _enough_! Arkay was the god of _mortality,_ right? Where was _he _when I needed him?

"You came here to remove your _gift_," Harkon growled. "I will have none of that. Your unlife will mean something, now that you are serving me."

"_Serving_ you?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes. You will not leave this castle unless it is under my orders."

I snarled at him and he squinted at me.

"Be careful, youngling. You may be a hundred and fifty, but your body is still that of a child, and will not serve you well against my own."

I hated that he was right. There was no way I'd be able to take on Harkon, no matter what I did. I just wish he didn't know that _himself_.

"Now, would you like to learn how to control your new gifts, or are you going to lay there and wallow in your distress?"

I saw red and snapped towards him, my fangs bared. I didn't even get a shot in before he was raising me above his head, hand clamped tight around my throat.

"You've been praying for a way to end your immortality," he started, tightening his grip. "Tell me, would you like me to end it _now_?"

My teeth were grinding together as he squeezed the life from me. My stomach lurched when I felt myself flung backwards, then shrieked when I landed hard on the stone floor. I tried to push myself up, but Harkon was quick, reaching me and planting one of his boots on my chest before I could get my bearings.

"If you don't want to harness the Vampire Lord's powers, _fine_," he growled, pressing on my rib cage until I had to bite back a scream. "Your blooding was just a symbol anyway, to show my subjects just what happens when they fall prey to the feeble emotions of mortality."

"You really think..." I hissed through my fangs. "That I'm just going to...roll over?"

"Oh don't worry about that. I have a _very_ special place for _feral_ and _insignificant_ fools such as yourself."

My eyes shot open when I heard a crack and a searing pain raced up and down my body.

_Damnit, did he just break my ribs?_

I couldn't focus long enough on the pain before specks invaded and closed up my sight, leaving me to stare at nothing but blinding white blankness overtaken by the deepest of blacks.

* * *

**"G**lad to see you finally came to your senses. Ready to make some coin?"

I shoot the redhaired nord man a tired glare. Thieves and cutthroats usually stick to the shadows in Riften, if only to be polite, but Brynjolf is a different story. Probably has something to do with that witch Maven Black-Briar keeping guards off his back. I can't say that I hate the guy, or that I hate his business. To be honest I've had to do a little thieving myself when times got tough. It was probably that silver tongue of his that got him out of most spats, because when he talks you have to listen carefully, otherwise you'll find yourself knee deep in whatever hair-brained scheme he's cooked up.

"Easy, Bryn, I'm just getting some supplies," I tell him, heading out towards the Jarl's palace. If I remember correctly the orphanage is right next to it.

"Aw, come on, lad," Brynjolf starts, following me closely. "With your skills, this job will be a breeze."

"Then _you_ do it," I say with a smirk. "Unless framing a merchant is much to _difficult_ for you."

That ticks him off, but he keeps his cool.

"Never actually seen you during the day," he says leisurely. "Even with that hood you keep your sunlit visits to the minimum."

Brynjolf is one of the only one's who knows what I really am. Took me four thousand septims to keep him quiet when he found out. Now I'm handing him another five hundred just so he'll _keep_ quiet.

"Let's just say that I might not have to pay you anymore," I tell him, unable to keep the smile off my face. "Found a way to get rid of it."

"Really? How much did _that_ cost?"

"A bandit's head and a black soul gem."

"Oh boy. Well, at least you left the innocents out of it. That _has_ been your policy for two hundred years."

"Yes, and I intend to keep it that way..."

_Even though I don't know if I _can_..._ I think as I stare at the orphanage.

Brynjolf follows my eyes and whistles.

"Don't even think of it," he says, stopping before leaving the market circle. "Old lady's a menace. You step in there you'll be lucky to make it back with your arm still attached."

"Is she really that horrible?" I ask, pausing and staring at the old sign above the door.

"Aye lad, sometimes worse."

I catch his squint from the corner of my eye.

"What is it you want in there anyway? You're too young-looking for a kid. They won't let you adopt."

"Yeah, they won't will they?" I say, bitterly smiling. "I'm not looking for a kid. Just Grelod."

"What for?"

I assess whether I should tell him. Ears everywhere, and with Brynjolf connected to Maven and Maven rumored to be connected to the Dark Brotherhood, I don't want to take the chance.

"Message for her," I decide, patting my pack. "Something about an orphan in Solitude."

Brynjolf cocks an eyebrow at me, knows I'm lying to him.

"What's it matter to you?" I ask, shooting him a grin. "Fallin' for me?"

He laughs in surprise, not ready for my snide remark.

"Lad, a _sabercat_ wouldn't fall for you!" he says as he slaps me roughly on the back. "Just be careful. A one-armed thief isn't very useful in the Guild."

"I'm not _joining_," I growl, mostly to myself since he's walking away.

My eyes shift back to the orphanage and I sigh. I don't think I'm going to kill Grelod. Overstepping too many boundaries. But it's the only lead I have to the Dark Brotherhood, unless I want to approach Maven and have them come calling.

The door opens and I try my best to quiet my steps. The hall leads to a small dining room with a large table, filled to the brim with food. The kitchen is off a ways, the fire smoldering underneath it. It doesn't _look_ desolate, it's actually kind of nice. There's a doorway that leads to a larger section, with noises coming from inside. I can't quite make out the words until I come into the dining room.

"Those who shirk their duties will get an _extra_ beating," a gravely voice growls. "Do I make myself _clear_?"

"Yes, Grelod..." a dull chorus of young voices chime.

I freeze just before the doorway. That can't be Grelod...can it?

"And one more thing, I'll have no more talk of _adoption_. None of you riff-raff are getting adopted _ever_! Nobody needs you, nobody _wants_ you."

Damn. She really _is _that bad.

"That my darlings is why you're _here_," Grelod continues. "Why you will _always_ be here. Until that day comes when you're thrown out into that wide _horrible_ world!"

I hear someone whimper.

"Now, what do you all say?"

"We love you Grelod, thank you for your kindness!" the small voices trill.

"Good. Now scurry off, my little guttersnipes."

I shake my head and move to enter the room. A boy plows into me as he's rushing away. I quickly pull him around so we're behind the wall.

"I-I'm sorry!" he wails, his brown eyes wide and fearful as I kneel next to him. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to─"

"Shh, you're okay," I said, lowering my voice and gesturing for him to lower his. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He relaxes. He's a slight thing with cropped brown hair and a pale face. His red shirt is tattered and dirty and his pants are frayed; he doesn't have shoes, but in Skyrim that's not an oddity.

"What's your name?" I whisper.

"Samuel," he squeaks. "Who are you?"

"Hadrian. Who was that talking just now?"

Instantly the boy's eyes darken.

"Grelod the _Kind_," he mutters. "Headmistress of Honorhall."

I nod.

"Is she always like that? Crabby and, well, rude?"

"_Rude_?" Samuel snarls. "She's horrible. Didn't you hear her? If we mess up a chore she _beats_ us. We have to _thank_ her after she yells at us, or we go hungry for a _week_. Does _that_ sound like '_crabby_' or _'rude_'?"

"No, it doesn't," I sigh. "Is there anywhere you all can go? Isn't there another orphanage?"

"If there _was _we'd go there. But the guards don't know about Grelod, and even if they do they won't help. Constance Michel has been here since she was a little girl, and Grelod _still_ treats her like dirt."

So everything Aventus said is true. Damnit, and I'd hoped he was exaggerating.

"You're not here to adopt, are you?" Samuel asked, his voice sounding much too hollow for someone his age. "I hope not, 'cause Grelod would go into a fury if you were. She'd sooner _kill _us then give us a family."

He glances up at me.

"How old are you anyway?"

"Old enough," I say, trying to give him a smile. "What about you?"

"What's going on over here?"

Samuel stiffens like a corpse, his face turning sickly pale and his eyes going wide. I stand and come face to face with a wrinkly, gaunt woman wearing a green dress. She has a bun of white and beady eyes, a look of disgust permanent on her face.

"Who are you?" she caws, getting in my face. "You have no business being here!"

I instinctively reach back and pull Samuel behind me. He grips the side of my shirt tightly.

"I'm Hadrien. I was just coming by─"

"What kind of _stupid_ name is that? You some busybody coming to tell me how to run my orphanage?"

I stare at her, my jaw clenching until it hurts.

"It's my _father's_ name," I say through my teeth. "He's _dead_, so I'd appreciate if you─"

"Well _good_! You know, you should be careful around here..."

She grabs my face. She grabs my face and I instantly want to thrust my dagger between her eyes. The only thing keeping me from doing it is that Samuel's shivering behind me and killing someone in front of a ten or so year old is frowned upon.

"Someone could easily mistake you for a fifteen year old. Maybe even _fourteen_. I'd watch what you say or you'll be living _here_ until your _beard hairs _finally grow in!"

She shoves me back, tries to anyway, but I stay where I am and glare at her. It takes her back a step. Obviously shoving kids around has given her false confidence.

"Get out of here. _Now_! Before I send for the guards."

She whirls around and storms to the kitchen. Samuel doesn't let go of my tunic.

"You're lucky," he whispers. "I've seen her slap someone just for asking directions."

"Well she won't be doing _that_ anymore," I growl, glaring after the old hag.

"You say that like you're going to do something."

I swallow hard, trying to calm down, then turn to Samuel. He sees something in my eyes and releases me.

"You're...you are aren't you?"

"Yes," I start, kneeling down again. "I haven't decided what yet, but I'm going to."

Samuel's face is a mixture between doubt and hope.

"R...Really? Aventus said he'd get someone from the Dark Brotherhood to help us. He promised he would."

His eyes grow wider.

"Are...are _you_─"

"No," I say, a bit too quickly. "I'm not one of them. But he...well he _thought_ I was."

"I understand," Samuel mutters. "I mean, it's not like assassins can spill that kind of secret."

I cringe and he grows frightened.

"I-I won't tell anyone!" he assures me rabidly. "I won't! Honest─"

"I'm _not_ an assassin," I repeat, fighting to keep my voice low. "I'm _not_!"

"Constance! I'm laying down!" Grelod shouts as she comes back into the room. I stand again and Samuel cowers behind me. "Don't let these ruffians touch my food."

"Y-Yes Grelod," a timid voice answers as the old woman spots me.

"I told you you're not allowed in here!" Grelod snarls. "Get out now!"

"I was just leaving," I say evenly, matching her glare. "Sleep well."

She scoffs, then leaves as I turn around.

"You won't leave for real, will you?" Samuel whimpers.

"No, not for real. I would appreciate it if you all would go out. Is there somewhere you all can go that won't be suspicious?"

"There's a side yard we use when we play, we can go there."

"Okay," I say, processing this. "You do that while I think of something. I'll call you in when it's done."

Samuel nods, still staring at me. There's that question buzzing in his head that I need to squash.

"I'm _not_ from the Dark Brotherhood," I tell him again, grabbing his shoulders. "Please don't tell the others that I am."

"Then who are you?" Samuel asks.

"I'm just someone trying to help."

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Why are your eyes like that?"

I pause.

"...Because I have an ancestor that was part elf," I say grudgingly.

"I don't believe you."

I blink, then smirk.

"I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," I tell him.

He beams proudly.

"So what are you?"

I bite my lip, my tongue running over my fangs.

"When there's a better time, I'll do my best to explain."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Now go grab the other kids. Don't say too much but make sure they understand the importance of this."

"I will."

He rushes away as I stand and touch the hilt of my dagger.

"Oh, Hadrian?"

"Yes?" I ask.

"Thank you."

I cock an eyebrow as he goes around the corner and I hear him talking to the children. My eyes go to the kitchen, then I adjust my hood and head in. The woman at the cauldron has dark skin and deep brown eyes, a tanned belted dress and chestnut hair with braids running down it. She starts when I enter.

"Y-You the one Grelod was arguing with?" Constance asks when her breath catches up to her.

"Yes," I say. "The kids are going outside, you should join them."

"I'm busy right now."

"I really think you should join them."

Constance gives me a sideways glance.

"Who are you?"

"Just someone stopping by. The children want to go outside, so I figured you would want to go with them."

"They _don't_ go outside unless instructed," she assures me, tapping the ladle against the pot before setting it in its holder on the cabinet.

"Well you should go get them, because they're going."

She squints at me, then her brow knits when she sees I'm not kidding. She goes out to the living area and I hear Samuel hurriedly talking to her, his voice diminishing as he takes her somewhere. It's cut off as the sound of a door closing rings, and after a moment I slip out into the large room. Beds are all along the walls, enough for four children, chests set up haphazardly around them. A fireplace is allowing too much heat into the space, considering that Riften is in the middle of summer. I tap on my hilt as I approach the door at the center of the room. That crone in there has no problems with hurting kids. Is killing her justified? And what will I be teaching them if I do?

I pause at the door and grit my teeth. I'm being such a hypocrite. The only reason I'm here is so I can find and get rid of the Dark Brotherhood and finally get retribution for what Cicero did to me. That involves killing. Possibly a _lot_ of killing. And I'm okay with that because they're assassins and they'd stab me as quick as they would blink. But right at this moment there's a woman in there whose fate needs to be decided. I grab the doorknob, hesitate, then shove it open.

I flinch at the loud snoring that blasts from the dark room. She really _does_ sound like a hagraven. I wiggle a finger in my ear before I sneak in, coming around to the side of the bed. Grelod's face is still twisted and angry. It actually makes it a little easier for me to heft my dagger from its sheath. But once I do I stare at it in shock. I just act on instinct, as if I'm a marionette on strings. I draw back a step, gazing down at the cruel woman sleeping so comfortably. It isn't fair how she can drop the harshness of life while her victims deal with her torments.

I shake my head clear. No, I'm not going to kill her. I _can't_...there has to be something else I can do.

_Jarl Idgrod_! I suddenly realize. _She would probably help! She has two kids of her own and she made me thane. If I find somewhere for the kids to lay low they can wait for that..._

I stop myself. That idea is flawed and unlikely to work. Gelod snorts as I turn and shake my head at the wall. Shouldn't have come here. Should have found some other way to get to the Brotherhood. Getting all those kid's hopes up was wrong and now I have to find some way to make it up to them.

_Damnit_, I think, slamming the tip of the hilt against the wall. _What was I thinking_?

Grelod doesn't even stir. I grit my teeth and lower my arm, then slam the hilt against the wall again. My stomach jolts when it shoots right out of my fist and up into the ceiling.

I gape up at my dagger in utter disbelief. It's hanging right over Grelod's head, its blade embedded into the wood. My body literally jolts when it slips a little

"Oh...oh the gods..._haaaaate_ me..." I moan as I search for some way to get up to it.

Grelod stirs and I halt, still staring at the knife hanging above her head. This is _just_ what I need after deciding that I _don't_ want to kill the goblin! There's nothing that will get me to it without stepping on Grelod's bed, other than the wardrobe. I look it over, frantically trying to decide if it's stable enough, then hiss and grab the top. The wood creaks as I hoist myself up and attempt to grab the hilt from there. It's too far out of reach, so I grab back onto the wardrobe and do my best to pull myself all the way up. Half of my body is on the top when I hear a _shnk_. I fall off the wardrobe as I watch the blade plunge down, down, and pierce the bed right next to Grelod's head.

The most hair-raising, gut wrenching scream explodes from Grelod's lips. After that it's deathly silent. She doesn't even turn towards me. My first thought is that the fall of the dagger scared her. My second is that the sound was a snore or something she did in her sleep. I shakily get up and peek over, relief swelling in me when I see that the green blanket is still green and the sheets are still red.

Still...red...in...the...place...around...my...dagger...while...the...rest...is...white...

And that red is seeping right from Grelod's gaping throat.

I stumble back into the wardrobe.

"Oh ho ho...gods..." I rasp, slipping down the dresser.

I just killed her. I just killed Grelod the Kind.

Why...why isn't there any guilt about it?

The doorknob turns and I skitter around the side and press myself against the wardrobe.

"Grelod?" Constance's voice calls. "It's time to..."

I cringe at the piercing scream that bounces off the walls, followed by Constance racing away. I peek out when it dissipates and instantly feel that guilt. I should have spent less time freaking out and more time hiding the fact that Grelod's neck was attached by strings.

"What's going on?"

Oh no, not the kids! I scramble to my feet and race to the door, trying to intercept them. I run into a little Nord girl and an Imperial boy first.

"Are you the one Aventus sent for?" the girl asks excitedly.

"Did you kill her?" the boy interrogates. "_Did _you _did _you?"

"I think you guys should stay out here," I say through my teeth as I try to shove them away from the door.

A brunette blur in a red shirt zips under my arm before I can grab him. Samuel stops right before the bed and I watch his eyes grow to the size of cheese wheels.

"Wow!" he cries as I corral the other kids against the wall. "Can you teach _me_ to do that?"

I zip into the room and scoop him up by the waist.

"Hey guys, Aventus did it!" he cries as I carry him out of Grelod's room. "Grelod the Kind is dead at last! We're saved!"

"Where's Constance?" I shout as I toss Samuel onto the closest bed.

"Passed out near the front door," the little Nord girl says, grinning at me. "Are you from the Dark Brotherhood? Aventus really did the Sacrament?"

"_No _he didn't," I say quickly. "It...uh─"

"I'm going to go get Hroar out of The Room!" the Imperial says. "I can tell him he won't have to steal that poison from the alchemy shop now!"

"Won't have to steal _what_?" I cry as he runs off.

"Thanks Mister Assassin!" the girl shouts as she wraps her arms around my waist. You're our hero!"

Her words slam down on me. If these kids end up murdering people because I killed their evil Headmistress I've got a one way ticket to the Void _without_ the help of the Brotherhood.

"Can I see her?"

"_No_!" I insist, picking her up and setting her on the bed. "No one is seeing her."

I shoot Samuel a glare.

"_Again_."

He gives me a cheeky smile. I close the doors and lean against them.

"_No one_ goes in there except for the guards," I instruct. "Not even for a second. If one of you does there's...you're...just _don't_!"

The two kids nod, and I sigh.

"Now...go wake up Constance while I figure out some way to tell the guards that an old woman is dead..."

The Nord girl races to do what I say as Samuel gets off the bed and stands in front of me.

"When you're older, can you adopt me?" he asks.

I rub the back of my neck and kneel down to his level.

"By then you'll be old enough to take care of yourself," I tell him.

"Can you come back and get me?"

"How long until you're fifteen?"

"Four more years...I think."

I smile.

"How about four years from now, I'll let you travel with me. 'Til then I'll visit every once in a while and see how you all are doing."

I pause.

"That is, as long as Constance doesn't think I killed Grelod..."

"She'd probably thank you," Samuel teased.

"It was an _accident_!"

"Whatever," he laughs. "Just go, before Constance wakes up and you have a lot of explaining to do."

I nod and ruffle his hair.

"Take care of yourself," I tell him as I race for the door.

Constance is laying on her side in front of the entrance. The little Nord girl shakes her as I step over and slip out the door. The sun is blinding and the air smells foul, but Riften is much more welcoming now. I stand there for a moment, a plan trying to formulate, when I hear Brynjolf's voice.

"Make love like a sabercat, or crush your enemies to dust with my new Falmer Blood Elixir!"

I shift my pack down and search out a particularly heavy coinpurse, all the while storming to the market circle. I find it and shove through the customers until Brynjolf is in view. He smirks when he sees me.

"Glad to see you finally came to your senses," he says when I come up to the stall. "Ready to make some─"

I grab the red potion bottle from his hand and slam it down on the cobblestones; he doesn't get a chance to respond as I shove the coinpurse into his palm and drag him forward, his ear close enough for me to hiss:

"I want guards in the orphanage. They're going to find Grelod in her room. You pay them off to believe it was a random assassin. Get the kids anything they need and I won't do the same thing I did to her to you."

Brynjolf looks taken aback as I shove him away and fix my hood. It only lasts a second, then that sneer is on his face again.

"Looks like you'll have to keep payin' me off after all, eh lad?" he taunts.

I flash him a glare.

"Fine. But you'd better keep our deal."

"Both? Or just this one?"

I growl and take off towards the exit.

"Don't worry, lad!" Brynjolf calls after me. "I'll take that as both!"


	6. Chapter 6

**"T**hank you thank you thank you _thank you_!"

I try desperately to unhinge Aventus from my neck and explain that killing Grelod was an accident, but he's too excited and too strong to let go and listen. It had taken me longer than I had expected to get back to Windhelm, with winter picking up and generous refugees closing their doors. It was two weeks before I found someone who _really_ didn't know the stages of vampirism and just thought I was ill. After feeding on them while they slept I left a coin purse on the table and slipped out. Now laden with meats and vegetables and, at the moment, a ten year old, I'm almost toppling over.

"Aventus, please, you're hurting me," I complain.

"How did she die?" he asks when he finally let's go.

"Pretty quickly," I sigh as I go and set my bags on the table.

"Oh, man! She deserved to suffer..."

I shiver at the morbid dissatisfaction in his voice.

"Well, either way, she's dead, so I owe you a reward."

"You don't have to do that, Aventus," I say as I rifle through my own pack for my flint.

"No, please?" he begs as he goes to his bed and kneels down. "It's an old family heirloom, and it should fetch you a nice price."

He drags out a big platter with a blue ring around the edge and blows the dust off. I set the flint on the table as he holds it out to me.

"How old is this?" I ask as I take it.

"I don't know, but it's worth something right?"

He want my approval more than the appraisal of the dish.

"Definitely," I say as I ruffle his hair. "Thank you."

His face lights up more than it had when he first met me.

"That's great!" he says. "You can probably sell it at Sadri's or in the market place."

"You don't want me to keep it?" I ask as I set the dish on the table and grab the flint.

"It's up to you, but I don't mind if you sell it. It doesn't have any value to me."

I nod and go over to start the process of lighting the fireplace.

"So...are you leaving again?"

I cringe and don't answer until small flames are licking at the firewood, then turn to Aventus. He's looking at the floor instead of me.

"Yes," I say. "There's something that I have to do, so I'll probably head out soon."

He nods and doesn't say anything.

"What about you? You're going back to the orphanage, right?"

"Yeah," Aventus says with a smirk. "I'll just give them time to, you know, clean up the mess."

I shake my head at him as he sits down beside me.

"How can I know you're actually going to go there?" I ask.

He glances at me before scratching at his head.

"Well, maybe you could take me there yourself?" he mumbles.

I can't help but look surprised.

"Please?" he asks. "I know it's asking a lot, but I don't want to be stuck the whole way with some Stormcloak preaching to me about how 'true Nords go against the Empire' or whatever, you know? I'm _ten_, I don't care about that stuff."

"Yeah, but─"

"And I trust you! I mean, if you were going to kill me you would have done it already. And you bought me a bunch of things, even though you didn't need to."

"Aventus..."

"_Please_?"

I look at his face and I know I can't leave him.

"...Yeah, okay," I say, ruffling his hair. "We'll head out tomorrow."

He beams and hugs me. I smile a little and wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders. He's grown even paler, and his skin is as cold as ice. I reach over and grab the furs from off the bed, throwing them over him as I shrug my jacket off.

"Thank you for helping me," Aventus murmurs. His eyes are closed and he sounds near sleep.

"Don't worry about it," I say, folding up my jacket and setting it on the floor. I lead him down and he rests his head on the thick fabric, nuzzling into the furs as the fire warms him. "Get some rest, you look exhausted."

I don't have to say it, he's already out cold. I stretch and stand, adjusting the sleeves of my tunic. A stray draft comes rolling in and blows through me, but I'm not cold. The receding of my powers has started to slow, enough for me to be immune to the harshness of winter but still need to feed. I'd give another three, maybe four months before they were gone for good. It'll probably come in handy, so I'm not too worried about it.

I look over the meat and realize there's nowhere to put it. The room was cold enough for now, but the fire would soon make it warmer, causing the meat to thaw and become rancid much too quickly. I bite my thumb as I think of a solution, then wrap the meats up and shove them back into the pack. With a quick look back at Aventus I slip down the stairs and out the door.

Once outside I set the pack on the wall, then proceed to cover it with nearby snow. I do my best to make it look like it's been blown there, sliding some of it up so it forms an incline. It takes a moment since the snow is still a little fine, but I manage to cover the whole pack from view. It'll due for the night; hopefully I don't forget it in the morning...

"Alms? C'mon now, _someone's_ got to be generous in this city!"

I look up and see an old beggar stumbling through the streets, his hood pulled down and his back slumped forward. His hands are shaking greatly and his knees look like they're about to collapse. A dark elf woman passing by tries to avoid his path, but he spots her.

"My good lady─" he starts.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "But I don't even have enough to feed my children."

"I understand. Divines' bless you."

I shake my head as he limps away from her and hugs himself. There's the thought to give him shelter, but with Aventus the most I can do is uncover my pack and dig out a wrapped meat slice then pull a coin purse from my pocket.

"Sir?" I call as I stand.

The old man glances at me briefly, then pauses when I hold out the items.

"Take these," I say. "The money should be enough for you to stay at the Candlehearth for a week, and this meat should last at least five days."

"Why...why _thank you_, my boy!" the old beggar says, shakily taking the objects from me.

He slips the meat into his tattered robe and I blink; it's like it simply disappears. He does the same with the coin purse before his gnarled hands reach out and grasp mine.

"I don't know how I will ever repay you," he says, tears running down his cheeks. "You've done me a great service."

"Don't worry about it, really," I respond, albeit bashfully. "It's just the right thing to do."

"Oh, my. Such a kind heart, and such strong morals! I wouldn't have expected either...from a _murderer_."

I stare at the man as he lifts his head enough for me to see his grin. A strange tingling comes from my hand and I look down to see his are glowing green, the wave wrapping around my trapped arm until it shoots up. I have enough time to look up at his face and open my mouth in surprise before I'm frozen in place. My heart suddenly is much louder, pounding in my ears like it's in my skull. The old beggar chuckles to himself as he releases my stiff hand; he reaches up and puts his index finger onto my forehead, then nudges me back. I topple like a statue, my joints stone, but I still feel the pain of the cobblestones hitting my back.

The old beggar slips off his hood and I stare up into his wrinkled sneer, his white-blue eyes gleaming at me. He kneels down and I see that he has no hair on his head.

"Sorry, lad," he says, his voice lowering to a gravel tone. "I _was_ just gonna knock you out when you turned around, but you _had_ to be a good citizen."

I try to speak but I can't form the words.

"Ah, don't worry kid. If I wanted ta kill ya, I would have done it already. No, no, we've got somethin' special planned for you."

He reaches towards my face and I feel his fingers on my eyelids.

"Oh, and we'll take _great_ care of the boy."

I try to scream as he drags my eyelids over my eyes.

* * *

**"A**h, _Pratt_ Athanasius, _Fool_ of Hearts."

I jolted to a stop behind my uncle and glared at the man in front of us. We had just left Agronak's tombstone, we weren't even a few feet from the cemetery; you'd think the gods could be generous enough to give us a time of grieving before throwing this man into our path.

"Lord Riold," Uncle Pratt says, his voice toneless as he gave a sweeping bow.

I bent forward as well, my eyes still on the callous emeralds as they followed my uncle's moves. Lord Riold was a weasel of a man, with a long, crooked nose and thin sneering lips. The only thing that made him look noble was his high collared robes and unnecessary staves. Today he had a roaring red cloak with fur trimming and his staff was silver with a sapphire at the top. He looked like a rat who'd eaten the head of a sabercat and was attempting to wear his furs.

"It's such a _shame_ about the Grey Prince," Lord Riold sniffed, his nose high as he looked at the cemetery. "And after he went to _all_ that trouble of showing his _noble_ birth."

He gave a _tsk_ and a sigh, then shot me a sideways glare. I cocked my eyebrow at him challengingly.

"I believe it was your nephew that found the proof for him, wasn't it? The boy was mighty brave and kind to do that for him."

"Yes, he was," Uncle Pratt said, grabbing my wrist. "He gets it from his father."

"Oh yes, I'm sure he must. I wouldn't expect him to get them from _you_."

He laughed at his joke and I took a slight step forward before Uncle Pratt tightened his grip on me. I gritted my teeth and pulled back.

"What was it that your brother left him for again?" Lord Riold asked, putting one of his slimy hands to his chin. "Oh yes, he joined the Imperials. Such _valor_. And you say his wife followed?"

"She did," Uncle Pratt verified. "She served as a healer for the soldiers."

"I see. Well, they _must_ be dead, yes? Otherwise they would have come back for their little runt─"

"Bite your tongue," I growled without thinking.

Lord Riold's head snapped my way, finally, and Uncle Pratt's grip was enough to cause cracks in my bone.

"Khalid," he started without turning to me. "You shouldn't talk like that."

I stared at him in shock, then shrunk when he looked at me.

"Lord Riold is just asking a question," he said. "There's no reason to be upset."

I saw that fire in his eyes. He tried so hard to hide it; his face was that of a calm man who was understanding of Lord Riold's intentions. His eyes told me that he very much wanted Lord Riold to chew up his tongue and spit it out.

"Yes Uncle," I heard myself say.

He nodded and Lord Riold lifted his head, that smirk on his face.

"Yes, Hadrian and Althia were killed in battle," Uncle Pratt continued. "A surprise attack no one was ready for."

"How tragic," Lord Riold crooned. "Well, I'm _sure_ they fought their _best_."

He looked directly at me when he said this, but I didn't look back. I just stared at his shining boots and wished he would fall into the depths of Oblivion.

"Was there something you needed, Lord Riold?"

"Oh yes," Lord Riold sniffed. "I was hoping you were free tonight. I'm hosting a get-together and I need someone to entertain my guests."

"On any other night I would do you the honor, my Lord. But I'm in mourning of a dear friend, and I am certain I would not be very entertaining."

The nobleman's eyes flashed as he slowly raised his head, until he was looking past his nose to see my uncle. I knew this wouldn't be good.

"A _jester_ in mourning is still a _jester_," he hissed. "You would throw away my payment to mourn a mer who is dead?"

"Some things are more important than payment, Lord Riold," Uncle Pratt said with a bow. "Now, if you will excuse me."

He motioned for me to follow him and started to go around Riold. We were forced to stop when he planted his staff in front of my uncle.

"That's not wise," he hissed, his emeralds squinting down at my uncle. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten what we discussed the last time you were so indolent."

I watched my uncle's hand twitch, then he reached back and grabbed my shoulder. I shouted when he pulled me forward and shoved me away, then spun around to ask him why.

"You'd best go home, Khalid," he said, his voice even but his eyes burning. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

My eyes shifted between him and the weasel lord beside him before I took a step back.

"You heard your uncle, young one," Lord Riold crooned. "You wouldn't want to get him into trouble would you?"

My stomach tightened, then I ran as fast as I could, glancing back to see my uncle's face. His eyes burned but his face was calm. He'd be okay. He'd be okay…

* * *

**S**omething flickered beyond my eyelids. I opened them for a moment, glimpsed a candle, or a firefly or something, before closing them again. I pulled them open once more when my hair was brushed away from my forehead. Too dark to see a face, but I'd recognize the itchy fabric anywhere.

"Uncle?" my sleep clogged voice rasped.

I'd waited up seven hours after the sunset, sitting on my bed praying for Uncle Pratt to come home from wherever he had gone.

"Shh, it's okay," he assured me. "It's okay, go back to sleep."

"You're back late," I drawled, my eyes closed as I felt his hand pull away. "Somethin' happen?"

"No, nothing. I just...lost track of time."

I nodded wearily, snuggling into my pillow.

You never lose track of time...

I thought that, but I couldn't say the words. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. I twitched when something dripped onto my cheek and slipped down to my ear. I wiped it away, only questioning the stickiness of it for a moment, then turned as my uncle slipped the blanket over my shoulders. I must have been very sleepy, because I thought his hand shook when he rested it on my head.

"Good night, Khalid."

"G'nigh..."

* * *

**I **woke the next morning to silence and a musty smell in the air. Usually Uncle Pratt would be up making breakfast, humming a tune loud enough to wake me but gentle enough to do so gently. So to wake to nothing was enough to shake off any weariness.

"Uncle Pratt?" I called, climbing out of bed and heading towards the kitchen. It was a small room with only a bucket over the fireplace and a small square table to vouch for it. On the table was a bowl of venison soup next to a slip of paper. I went over and opened it, ignoring the way the food's waffing scent enticed me, and read my uncle's scribbled writing.

_Khalid,_

_Something has happened. Something I can't explain. I have to leave. I don't want to but if I stay I..._

I shake as the words cut off and the last sentence is crossed out. What did he mean by leave?

_There's a large amount of gold in the locked drawer of my dresser. The key is under the bowl of soup next to this message. It should be enough for you to get a new home in Cheydinhal. Don't worry about this one, Owyn has been given instructions to sell it and give you both the money and your things. Leave as soon as you take out the money. Tell no one you're leaving, not even Ianira. You never know who is listening._

I sank into the chair, my brain building a wall to keep out the truth of his words.

_I love you, Khalid. I'm proud of you. I don't want to do this, and I know you'll hate me for it. But I will have to take that chance, because I would rather this than have you in danger. After you go to Cheydinhal send Ianira and Owyn your whereabouts. There is a jar in the living room with a butterfly inside. When you find a courier hide the jar and all him what is inside. The one I've hired will give you the correct answer._

_Please be safe, and know that this is my fault. Even if it involves someone else, the blame is mine. Do not come to find me, please. Just live your life the best you can._

_I'm so sorry,_

_Pratt_

I traced his signature over and over again, as if I was blind, until I really couldn't see it anymore. My head landed on the corner of the table as I stared at the swimming letters of the unexpected abandonment. Why? What had driven him to leave me this way? My fingers stopped tracing and I lifted my head to stare at the bowl. I numbly reached over and shoved it, ignoring the contents being spilled as I gazed at my uncle's key. It shined at me, tauntingly, one of the last things my uncle was able to give me before disappearing.

I snatched it up and hurled across the room. It slapped the stone wall and clattered to the floor, staring at me as I started to scream, hoarse and angry and hurt and alone. I shook my chair and got up and overturned the table and clutched the letter so tightly it ripped between my fingers. Then I stumbled and fell on my back, wailing until no sound came out. After that I laid there sobbing at the ceiling. My hand reached up to wipe the tears from my eyes and hit something sticky, right under my eye, that dug into my skin. I sat up and scrubbed at it, confused by the flakiness, then looked down at my fingers when it softened.

I stared at the watery blood until my tears dried. Blood. From where? I slipped my hand across my face and found that the trail led all the way to my ear, and then I remembered the droplet of something that had plopped onto my face when Uncle Pratt was leaning over me.

_He was bleeding_. I thought frantically. _Why was he bleeding? Did Lord Riold hurt him? Why didn't he say anything?_

I sat there for what seemed like forever, staring at my uncle's blood. Once I came out of my trance, it didn't take long for me to get up, collect the key and open the drawer, take the money and go to the door, because once the decision to find my uncle had been made I knew I wouldn't rest until he was home.

The room swims dizzily as I open my eyes. Nothing looks familiar, and for a moment I forget where I am. But it comes back in a blur and I squint to keep the ground still. I'm on a small bed, facing some sort of shelf, and on top is a figure that won't stop shifting. I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself into a sitting position, then glare up at the shadow. She (assuming she's a she) is covered in a red and black armor I've seen once before, a long, long time ago, and her face is shrouded with a mask and hood. Her leg swings like a pendulum as she cocks her head.

* * *

**"S**leep well?" she asks coyly.

"Who are you?" I rasp. My hand goes to my side and I feel that my dagger is gone. Slimy old crook probably took it when I was incapacitated. "Where am I?"

"Does it matter? You're warm, dry, and still very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod. Hmm?"

"You know about that?"

My head spins for a moment and I remember something vitally important.

"Where's Aventus?" I snarl, my blood boiling. "If you've hurt him─"

"Oh no, you have nothing to worry about," the assassin assures me. "He's in Riften right now. After grabbing you my family personally assured his deliverance to Honorhall. We told him the truth, that we had taken you, and that you really weren't an assassin."

I can practically see Aventus' disappointed face.

"Which brings us back to the matter at hand."

I glare up at her.

"You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was a Dark Brotherhood kill. A kill...that you stole. A kill you must repay."

I scoff a little. You've got to be kidding me.

"You want me to murder someone else? Who?"

"Well now, funny you should ask," she answers, sweeping her arm to something behind me.

I follow and gape at the three people in the center of the room. Each is on their knees, their hands tied behind their back, and their heads covered with a black bag. One of them is a male in scaled armor, the other a woman in a plain belted tunic, and the last a khajiit in suspiciously nice robes. My stomach drops down to my shoes.

"I've 'collected' them from...well, that's not really important. The here and now. That's what matters."

I glare up at her.

"You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and they can't leave this room alive. But...oh...which one? Go on, see if _you _can guess."

Oh gods.

"Make your choice, make your kill. I'm here only to observe...and _admire_."

I grit my teeth together, sliding my tongue over the back of my fangs. How am I going to fake my way out of _this_?

"Am I to take your silence as acceptance?" the woman asks. "Then we understand each other."

I hear a clatter and look down at my dagger. The woman cocks an eyebrow at me.

"Well, get to it then. Pick your guest and send the poor fool to the Void. I'll give you the key to this shack and you'll be on your way."

I'm standing and grabbing my blade before I even know what I'm doing. My eyes examine the prisoners as I step to them. Can I really do this? It feels different from Grelod, like claws are digging into my heart. These people are probably all innocents, ripped away without a reason like I was. Then again, no matter how much I would like to be, I'm not innocent, so it wouldn't hurt to hear them speak.

I take the easy way out and step to the center, to the woman.

"I swear, if I didn't have this bag over my head, I'd spit right in your face!" she shouts.

...Okay, maybe I'd misjudged.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"None of your _business _who I am!" the woman growls. "Stealing a woman from her home. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

My eyes shift back to the assassin. Her eyelids have drooped, as if she's bored or wondering where I'm going with this. I curl my lip and kneel down in front of the woman.

"Would someone try to have you killed?"

"I'm a woman in Skyrim with six children and no husband! I don't have _time _to be polite!"

Widowed mother. Yeah, I can't kill her. I stand and stare at her though, reality kicking in. There's no way she's making it out of this shack, now that she's heard that assassin and I talking. She'll be dead before her children even wake up for breakfast.

I go to the man in scaled armor.

"I...I-I can hear you talking out there," he whimpers as I kneel next to him. "Please, don't kill me!"

"Who are you?" I ask.

"I-I'm Fultheim...the Fearless. I-I'm a sellsword."

"Fearless" huh? That was an ironic name for someone sniveling in terror.

"Would someone pay to have you killed?"

"Oh gods...I...I suppose so...I have killed a lot of people. Someone could want revenge..."

He can't stop sniveling, and honestly it gets on my nerves. He's killed many people, probably tortured them, and yet he can't handle the pressure when he's in captivity himself. Apparently he chose the wrong name, and profession, to have.

That left only the khajiit. His ears twitch under his hood as I approach.

"Who are you?"

"Ah," he purrs. "Vasha, at your service. Obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters."

I already hate him.

"Never heard of me? Perhaps I'll have my people carve my name into your corpse...as a reminder."

"Would someone pay to have you killed?" I growl.

"Ha! If a day were to go by without such a threat, I would be disappointed! I'm a wanted man, and proud of it."

He tilts his head as I slink around him, twirling my dagger between my fingers.

"You'll let me go," Vasha continues. "I know you will. This is all part of the game we play."

"You're right," I say as I kneel down. "I am going to let you go."

I hear him gasp before I grab his mouth, then slip my dagger through the flesh of his throat. Blood drips down his robes as I release him and his stiff body falls backwards; my mouth waters. I must not have been fed for a while.

"The conniving khajiit," the woman says as she slides off the bookshelf. "Cat like that was sure to have enemies."

I tear my eyes away from him and glare at her.

"What's the matter, Nightwalker? Hungry?"

"How do you know what I am?"

"Let's just say I'm well acquainted with your kind."

I wait for her to clarify but she turns towards the others.

"Now that you've proven more than you need to, I believe you deserve this," she says, pulling something out and throwing it at me. I catch it in mid air and look down. It's a key. "You're free to go, if you so desire."

I glance over at the other captives.

"What will you do to them?"

"Kill them."

"How?"

"However way I see fit."

I glance over at her, then grab my dagger again. The tied woman lets out a startled cry as I slip my knife between her ribs, ending her quickly. The assassin gapes as I throw my blade through the air, piercing Fultheim in the temple. He topples without so much as a sound.

"Now what did you go and do that for?" the woman asks.

I start to say I did it so she can't, but I hold my tongue and think more carefully.

"To further prove myself," I end up saying.

"I see. That's good. Then you'll want to know that I have found you worthy of my family."

She reaches up and slips off her hood. Her face is pale but pretty, and she has golden hair down to her shoulders tied back with two side plaits. Her blue eyes shine at me.

"Our Sanctuary is in Falkreath, behind the cemetery. I will be more than happy to show you."

I hesitate. After a moment she steps closer and I back away, nodding my head.

"Okay," I mutter.

She smiles, a kind of tender, warm smile her kind should never have.

"Then allow me to clean up this mess," she starts. "Welcome to the family...what was your name again?"

I swallow hard, my throat dry, then look her square in the eyes.

"Hadrian. And yours?"

"Astrid. Hadrian, I believe you are going to fit in well at home."

The chilling thing about those words...is the fact that they make me feel warm inside.


	7. Chapter 7

**"I**t looks good on you," Astrid says.

I fidget with the belt and stare at her feet. The red and black Dark Brotherhood armor fits too well, too snug. I move and it breathes to accommodate, as if it is living with me. It's unsettling and yet comfortable. The cowl and mask are resting on my neck as I finally tighten the belt and slip my dagger into the loop.

"Are you excited to meet your new family?" Astrid asks as she starts to walk away from the shack. The bodies of the three prisoners are laying against the wall.

"Yes," I lie.

"Good. They're excited to meet you too. It's been quite some time since we've had a new member among us."

I nod absently, tugging at the hood. Astrid turns and watches me, then steps up and takes my hands away. I flinch at her touch, then force myself to be still as she slides the mask over my mouth and nose, then smooths my hair back and pulls the cowl over my head. She backs up a step to look me over, then shakes her head.

"I'll have to see if Gabriella can sew a mask onto one of our larger hoods," she says. "The cowl doesn't quite look right."

She smiles and I'm reminded of my mother. I don't remember very much of her, but I know she used to give me the softest smiles. It's cruel that Astrid, an assassin, can give the same. I look down at the ground as she brushes some things from my shoulders and turns back to the bodies.

"You may want to stand back," she says as she pulls her own cowl and mask up.

I do as she says and watch her pull out a small scroll. It glows red, then bursts into flames as she throws it. I jump and fall on my back as the whole crumbling shack is enveloped in fire, the walls crackling angrily. Astrid looks back and laughs at the shock on my face, then comes over and hoists me up.

"Don't worry, I won't tell the others," she assures me. "Now come on; it will be daylight soon and the last thing we need is a town of guards spotting us."

I nod and adjust the unfamiliar cowl, longing for my hood. Astrid hands me my pack and we start to run through the marsh, blending into the shadows.

* * *

**"D**elos, _please_!"

"I can't tell you where he went, Khalid," the dark elf hissed, feverishly rubbing at the glass he held. "If he had told me I would share with you, you know that."

"_No_, you wouldn't," I growled. "You can act like you're on my side all you want, but I know you'd never betray my uncle, even to me."

Delos stopped swiping the cup, a dark look in his crimson eyes.

"Pratt was worried about your safety," he said. "I have nothing to tell you."

"I'm worried about _his _safety! _Please _Delos!"

"That's noble of you, but I won't jeopardize your life for his. You mean too much to him, he gave up everything for you."

He threw the rag on the counter and grabbed my wrist. His eyes were as firm as his grip.

"Best keep away from this child. Too dark, too deadly. Your uncle has to face this alone; respect that."

"Why?" I asked. "Who is he facing?"

"Dark...dark beings, that shouldn't be spoken of."

_Dark_...

My heart dropped and I felt all the blood leave me.

"Delos..." I croaked.

His grip tightened.

"Did they...did they _take_ him?"

"Leave it be, Khalid."

"They _took_ him?"

"Khalid-"

"_They took him_!"

People turned to stare at us and Delos grabbed my ear. His jaw was tensed as he pulled me to him.

"Please. Please let it go," he growled. "Don't speak of it, don't search it out. It brings nothing but pain and suffering for you and _anyone_ you love. Think of Ianira and her family, the rest of the combatants, _their_ families."

His lips quivered.

"I have to think of my family. Pratt thought of _his_, that's why you're here, and he's gone. He is giving up his life for something even _more_ important. Respect that. Let his decision end this for you."

"To do that would be cowardly."

Delos released me and I turned to the cloaked figure behind us. They pulled off the hood and I gaped at Ianira.

"You wish for Pratt to be killed by the Dark Brotherhood, Delos?" she asked.

"Shh, child," Delos hissed. "Don't say their-"

"Enough. I expected someone who has known him since he was born to be much more protective of his life. Of his soul, considering that they plan on sending it to Sithis."

"Pratt made his choice. There's nothing to be done."

"He _chose_ for the Black Sacrament to be preformed, for his soul to be dragged to the Void? I've never heard something so absurd."

She softened when she looked at me. I felt sliced apart inside and I was certain I looked it.

"Someone did this to him. He was selfless enough to leave, if only to avoid dragged us in."

She hardened again and glared at Delos.

"I'm willing to give my life to save his. You should be too."

"What of your family?"

"They live with threats every day. Being Breton priests of Talos causes that in this day and age. They would want me to do this."

"Because of _pride_."

"Because it's _right_."

"Ia..." I croaked.

She reached out and gripped my hand without looking from Deolos' eyes.

"The only reason the Dark Brotherhood is still around is because of people think like you, Delos," she said. "You're not worried about your family, you only say that to avoid your own death. I pity you."

Delos gaped at her as she squeezed my hand.

"Come on Khalid. Let's find your uncle."

She had to wrap her arm around mine as she led me to the door.

"Gods guide you," Delos called.

I froze, awakening from my misery to turn to him. My face tightened as I replied:

"The gods have abandoned me. Pray they keep away from now on."

* * *

**I** jolt awake, my eyes swiftly moving to Astrid. She's illuminate by the fire, her eyes hooded but open. It's sickening that she trusts me so much as to let me press myself at the base of a tree, yards enough away that I can run at any moment, notify the guards, or launch my dagger and stab her through the temple.

It's much more nausiating that I have no desire to.

"You still don't trust me, Brother?" she askes suddenly.

I don't answer; she smiles, her eyes still on the fire.

"The silence suits you, Hadrian." I don't like how my father's name slips from her tongue. "But you have nothing to fear. You're a member of my family now. Come. Sit by the fire. We can get to know each other more deeply."

"I'm a vampire," I finally say. "Fire is something I prefer to avoid."

"Wise, but that's not why youre sticking to the trees. You think I can't sense your suspicion?"

I tense as she stands and comes to me. She sits and rests her hands on her knees, a distant look on her face.

"My first kill was when I was young," she says, gaining my sideways gaze. "My parents had just died, and I was sent to live with my mother's brother."

The corner of her lips twitch as she cocks her head.

"He made unwanted..._advances_. Tried to convince his thirteen year old niece it was okay."

I meet her eyes and she smiles.

"So I killed him," she states. "And I liked it. Then I killed his friend who tried to help him. I liked it too.

I suppress a shiver.

"Soon I was killing anyone who treaded me wrong. The Dark Brotherhood found me, took me to the Sanctuary. That day I finally found my home. I excelled, rose in ranks, and even found my husand, Arnjorn, there."

"Assassins get married?"

"They're allowed to, yes. At lease in _my_ family. Much has changed in the Brotherhood. It had to, in order for us to survive."

She leans forward to see my face better. I look at the grass.

"You understand, don't you? It must have been a hard time, adjusting from mortality to eternity."

"I adapted."

"Very well in fact. The Brotherhood had to do the same, so as to prepare fro eternity."

I flinch when she grabs my chin and gently leads my eyes back to hers. My hand inches for my hilt.

"Your eyes hold the same fire as my family," Astrid tells me. "The same desire for blood. We're familiar with your kind, so you will be safe with us."

"_How_ familiar?"

"One of our members is a Nightwalker." My brow raises. "She has been with the Brotherhood for two hundred years."

"And you think that will make me feel more at ease?"

"Does it?"

It does. But I don't say so.

"You have wandered enough in your life, Nightwalker. Don't you think it's time you settle down with the only people who will accept you."

Astrid is very convincing, I'll admit it. A part of me is thoroughly convinced that she is as caring as she wants me to believe. She reaches up and brushes my hair away from my eyes, her fingers coasting down to my scar above my right eye. I don't know why I'm allowing her to touch me.

"How did you get this, Brother?" she asks, her hand cupping my chin as her thumb strokes my split lips. "And these?"

A gleaming blade flashes in my mind, my blood trailing down to the hilt. A memory, a dark memory, one of many.

_What's the matter, Little Lamb? Does the sight of your blood upset you? Sing his songs for me. Perhaps he'll hear you from the Void_.

"An old friend," I hiss, staring at the dimming fire. "An old friend...that I regret allowing to live."

"Is he like you?" Astrid asks.

I shake my head, my tongue running across my fangs.

"I don't want to talk about it."

I pause, then add:

"Not yet."

"In time, my dear Brother, in time."

I jolt when she wraps her arms around me and rests my head on her shoulder. She strokes my hair like I'm her child.

"Sleep now. Tomorrow we bring you home."

My eyes feel unnaturally heavy. It has been a very long time since I've felt such exhaustion. Even when travelling for hours on end I always had enough energy to keep on. But now, in the arms of this maternal assassin, I'm deand tired, comfortable, safe.

Damn the Brotherhood.

* * *

**T**he part between leaving the tavern and finding out where my uncle was is still a blur to me. I remember leaving, I remember Ianira saying things to me, asking questions. I remember answering. But my mind didn't cling to what was said, what was going on, where we were, once I remembered the one place we always had hidden. Ianira said she was going to look somewhere outside of town, maybe something about Bravil, but I disregarded it. I was already racing, stumbling, towards the one place that made sense to me.

My parent's old home in the woods.

It had proven a safe refuge during the Oblivion Crisis, with trees covering it from view, a stream close by, many animal to hunt. No one had thought to check for us there, no one would have thought to look there then.

The house at the end of the path sat there like a rotting corpse. The walls had giant holes in them, the windows were shattered, weeds had overtaken the garden. I shook as I stared at it. So many memories flew through my head, days of playing outside and working with my father. I could almost smell all the different mountain flowers my mother would grow, the lavender, the dragon tongues. I could see her twisting her hands together and bringing forth her Restoration magic. I could only stare, how could I even step towards it. I knew he was there. Uncle Pratt was there, and I couldn't move.

I looked down at the path before me and spotted a dark spot on a stone. It was glistening in the low moonlight and when I knelt down I saw it that it was deep red. Blood. Blood that had friends dotting the stones up to the house. I knew it was my uncle's. My breath hitched as I gathered my courage and followed the trail up to the front porch. I had to save him, even if he didn't want me to.

I was lucky to spot the circle in front of me. A dim Fire Rune made me back up as it sat there, resting in front of the doorway to my old home. I was about to search out another entrance when I noticed the next one. It had been placed so close the borders were practically overlapping. Then I found the one next to that, and the one next to that, until I stepped away and saw that there was an entire circle around the shack, clustered near each other to prevent any sort of infiltration. I was stuck. My uncle was going to die in there, and I couldn't get in. I felt the life drain from me. There was nothing I could do.

I heard a murmuring sound, then jolted when someone started to come up the stairs. I frantically raced around the shack, being careful of the Runes, until I was in the back yard. To my surprise there were no Runes once the fence started, leaving my mother's decayed garden free. I hopped over the small wood and knelt down, staying close to the wall so as to blend into the shadow the moon casted. I spotted the window into the basement and silently swore. I had forgotten about the bars we'd placed to keep out animals and other creatures. The bars were so close together I wouldn't be able to get my _fingers_ through them. There was a soft light coming from inside, and a soft moan echoed up to me. I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut, then shimmied over and laid flat so I could see inside.

I wanted to pluck my eyes out when I saw Uncle Pratt.

His chest was glistening with blood, only peeks of his tan skin showing through. The lines were jagged, like someone was attempting to replicate stained glass, and sgifted between deep and shallow slashes. His face had bruises and blood running from his nose and forehead. His arms and legs were tied to each corner of the bed he was resting on, his hands gripping the ropes tightly. There was far too much pain in his blue eyes. I grabbed one of the bars and opened my mouth to call to him.

"Tell me again why you find me funny."

I froze and looked at the dark figure in the doorway. His face was shrouded with a hood and his body was covered with a large black robe. My uncle shivered, then smiled somehow and let out a small laugh.

"The young boy who's meant to be a Keeper," he trilled, his voice bouncing like he was singing. "And he's not allowed to lift his blade? An assassin who can't kill. Tell me how that's _not_ funny!"

"You're brave to mock your captor," the figure growled.

"You're only a boy. It's like I'm playing War!"

"Stop taunting me. I could end your life at any moment. You should be grateful that I'm allowing you the honor of being alive for so long."

"If I chance to see a _brat_, I give his hand a little _wack_!" Uncle Pratt laughed. I thought I heard the figure snarl again. "You're much too uptight for a boy about to become something _oh so great_!"

"I think I understand why the Sacrament was preformed..."

"Do you?" Uncle Pratt asked, looking over and grinning at him. "Let me guess, it's because I'm an annoying jester who talks to much about things no one wants to hear! Surprise surprise!"

I bit my lip as the assassin came closer to him, and my hand went to the hilt of my dagger. Sticking it into the back of his head would certainly free my uncle.

"You've yet to tell me who preformed it," Uncle Pratt said.

"That is confidencial information," the assassin answered.

"Ah. So you don't know."

"What? O-Of course I know!"

"Aha! You stuttered! You have no idea!"

"Shut up!" the assassin cried as my uncle cackled at him.

My grip loosened. I didn't know how he had the strength to do so, but it seemed like Uncle Pratt was turning this torture scene inside-out.

I flinched when the assassin pulled his knife out.

"Laugh at me again, _jester_," he growled, placing the blade against my uncle's chest. "And I'll make you _scream _for the next two days."

Uncle Pratt stopped and stared at the blade, then shifted his gaze to the assassin.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

The blade lifted from his flesh.

"What?"

"What's your name, boy?"

"What does _that_ matter?"

"Shouldn't I be allowed the name of the one who is to kill me?"

I felt the world drop from around me as I waited for the assassin's answer. I thought I saw him shake and tense, then he straightened and dropped his blade to his side.

"Cicero," he said. "My name is Cicero."

The name echoed around my skull. I knew his name now, and suddenly he wasn't just some symbol for the Dark Brotherhood. He was a person. Some _person _was killing my uncle. It made me pull my blade from its sheith and pray for him to come closer.

"Can I see your face?" Uncle Pratt asked.

Cicero stepped back. One more and I could drop my blade through the bars and into the top of his hood.

"Why?" he growled.

"Shouldn't I be allowed?"

"You ask too much."

"There is no rule in the Brotherhood that says you can't show your face."

"How do you know so much? Who are you really?"

There was silence, and instead of looking at Cicero, I was staring at my uncle, waiting with bated breath to hear his answer.

"Because I've delt with your kind before," he said.

The dagger almost slipped from my grasp at his words. Cicero seemed taken aback as well.

"What do you mean?" he rasped.

My uncle's eyes twinkled darkly.

"What do you _mean_?" Cicero asked again. "Tell me!"

"Not until I see your face."

I could feel Cicero's desperation increase as he slowly lifted his hands to his hood. He hesitated, then ripped it away. I saw red hair that fell to his shoulders, but that was all. My uncle's eyes widened, then he grinned.

"You really are just a boy aren't you?" he asked. "You can't be any older than my nephew. "

"I'm a year older," Cicero said.

"And how do you know that?"

"I did my research. Not that it was hard. Bravo on having a nephew who somehow cheats death everyday of his life."

Uncle Pratt laughed and I felt my eyes narrow.

"So you've seen him? He is pretty clutzy isn't he? Still, there's raw talent in him."

"Yes, there is. If the situation was different, I'd say we could recruit him."

I shivered as bile crawled up my throat.

"Now, how do you know so much about the Brotherhood?"

"Ah yes, I almost forgot."

He laughed a little, then coughed. It was unsettling, watching him react so calmly to Cicero, as if he wasn't going to be killed by him afterwards.

"Let us just say that my brother's wife was more aquainted with your kind than most folk."

The blood rushed out of my brain. _What_?

"Explain," Cicero said, his voice curious.

"Hmm, Althia was a magnificent healer and mother. But before that she was much more..._violent_. You know the Molag Tong?"

Cicero stiffened.

"Yes," he growled.

"She was one of the upper ranks." My stomach jumped down to my shoes at the same time that Cicero jolted.

"_Was_ she?"

"Yes. She was very talented. But as she grew older she wanted something different from life."

"And that's when she met your brother?"

"Yes." My uncle paused to cough and glance at the assassin. "They fell in love. He trusted her enough to give her the life she wanted, and she was discrete enough to disappear and not be noticed for some time."

"I see. But they didn't just let her go, did they?" Cicero guessed as he sat on the edge of the bed.

I swallowed hard, my mind and body numb.

"No, they didn't. She and my brother were able to see Khalid reach his sixth year, and then they came searching for her. They left under the ruse that they were joining the Imperial army, for Hadrian had been a soldier, and I took care of Khalid like they asked. Kept him away from civilization until the whole mess with the Molag Tong and the Oblivion Crisis was over with."

"And Khalid's parents?"

My uncle's face contorted and I took a deep breath in, preparing for the blow.

"I awoke early one morning to find their bodies hanging together, a single rope around their necks. Their bodies were mangled beyond recognition, but their faces were clean, not a scratch upon them."

He shuddered and I squeezed my eyes shut for a long moment. The last thing I wanted to imagine was my parents dangling from a tree in front of our home.

"I buried them in Althia's garden, then forged a letter from the Imperials saying that they had been killed in action, all before Khalid awoke."

"That must have been hard for you."

"It was. Do you get a lot of joy, pretending to care?"

I'm not pretending."

"Really?" Uncle Pratt asked, smiling at him with a hint of bitterness. "Then...can I ask you a favor, little Cicero?"

The assassin straightened as my uncle sighed.

"When you finish your deed, when you feel your last contract has been fulfilling, can you make sure Khalid will never know that I was here?"

"Jester..."

"The faces of my brother and his wife haunt me. I have never been able to forget their hollow eyes, and I can never remember what they looked like when alive. Every memory is tainted. I don't want my nephew to go through the same. He is a smart boy, he will find me.

He looked Cicero straight on.

"So I beg you, don't let him see my face. I couldn't rest peacefully, wherever you are sending me, unless you do that for me."

Cicero cocked his head, his hands clenched tightly.

"I..."

"And...one more thing," Uncle Pratt coughed. "Please, if it is in your power, do not go after Khalid."

"There is no way for me to garentee that, Jester-"

"Please. If you can't do the first, then please, this is all I will ask."

My skin felt cold. My uncle was going to die, and he was worried about keeping me safe. Warm liquid moistened my cheeks as the scene became blurred. I wiped the tears away and pressed a hand to my mouth, waiting until Cicero finally answered.

"Of course, Fool of Hearts."

My uncle relaxed as I grasped the bars of the window, my eyes wide in disbelief. This assassin was going to grant my uncle's wish? What was bringing him to give such a gift?

"Have you finished with me?" my uncle sighed.

Cicero stood from the bed, his dagger at his side once more.

"Yes, I believe I have. But can I ask a question of you, Jester?"

"Of course."

"How have you been able to torment me so? I've never come across such strength. Not once did you beg for your life, only the life of your nephew.

My uncle's lips parted and he let out another of his throaty, dramatic laughs. I felt like I was dying with him inside.

"Well now, they wouldn't call Pratt the greatest jester if he couldn't smile through something as simple as this!" he trilled.

I stared at his eyes, filled with suppressed pain. Hang on, I wanted to say. Hang on!

"I see."

Cicero leaned forward and I jolted. What was he doing? I furrowed my brow when he kissed my uncle's forehead.

"I'll see you in the Void, dear friend."

Blood poured from my uncle's throat and my world was slashed apart.


End file.
